On Shadow's Edge
by Morestel
Summary: Loki has never asked for redemption. In the wake of his imprisonment, its uncertain beginnings are forced upon him, by the woman he once named Mother and the brother he must now call King.
1. I Steps

**Author's Note:** _Why, hello there! Do bear with me for a moment. This is my first venture into both the Thor and Marvel universes; I've been a fan for a while, but learning to navigate the subtle nuances of Loki's character has been an undertaking, to say the least. I like to think I'm getting there, but I suppose readers will be the judge of that!_

_This is, I suppose, an AU, in that it takes place following the events of _The Avengers_ and disregards later happenings in _Thor: The Dark World_. I wanted to give Loki a chance-a chance to return to the world he once knew, though much, it's clear, has changed. Even I don't know fully what may happen..._

_Many thanks for reading! :)_

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**ON SHADOW'S EDGE**

_I. Steps_

Loki could hardly believe his ears when he heard the ring of the staff on the stone floor of the corridor that led down between the prison cells. He went still, the thin pages of his book shivering slightly in his hand, and then with a snap he shut the volume and placed it without looking on the pillow behind him. The bedcovers rustled slightly as he rose.

His movements were curious, if wary, as with soft-footed steps he prowled to the edge of the cell. The sound of the staff, and its accompanying footsteps, were growing louder as he listened, and a moment later he heard the clatter of motion that meant the guards had thrown up their fists and their spears in a hurried salute to whomever was approaching. Loki's brow furrowed faintly; there really couldn't be any doubt, and yet… _why_?

He edged quickly to the opposite end of the cell barrier, trying to peer past it as far as he could down the low hallway. Unconsciously, his hand came up and rested against the shimmering forcefield, as though, with a little effort, he could push right through the thing. _If only_, said a soft voice in his head, _if only you could._ It had spoken to him the same words many times before—and, as usual, he ignored it.

A second passed, and then another; Odin must have paused on some other pretence, perhaps stalling yet again before he must come face-to-face with the one he had so callously dismissed—but here Loki's thoughts took an abrupt turn. The steps had started again, quick and heavy, and it was then that he realised—

Not Odin.

Thor.

Surprise flickered briefly through Loki's mind as he stepped back a pace from the forcefield, and for just a moment he allowed the semblance of a smile to tug at his lips. Events to alter the very destiny of the Realm had been transpiring above his head, and he knew now that he'd had only the vaguest notion of how quickly they were moving.

Feeling oddly clear-headed, he turned abruptly on his heel and returned to his previous position on the bed, even taking the aged tome into his hand again, feigning carelessness. Odin he would have faced head-on, their relationship long since established and set in stone, but Thor, despite being his father's son, required different tactics. Acknowledgement, after all, was a response to be earned, not assumed.

So it was that when Thor came into view—even more straight-backed than usual, Loki noted, watching from beneath lowered lids—he found the imprisoned figure all but ignoring him. Loki was bent over slightly, one leg tucked beneath him, the other hanging loosely over the side of the bed, and the covers of his book were rested comfortably in the spread of his long, pale fingers. The air seemed to shiver in its own disquiet.

With infuriating deliberation, Loki turned a page. The tone of the silence changed almost immediately.

"Loki."

It was the word he had been waiting for, the one by which he could judge exactly where this encounter was coming from, and where it would end, depending on which way he decided to play it. Thor's voice was neither loud nor soft, but a firm and at first unyielding middle tone. Not much room for argument, then, though he could work around that easily enough… And yet he rather thought he heard something else hidden behind the solidity—a suppressed uncertainty, masked by confidence but present nonetheless. Inwardly, Loki smiled. It might not be enough to give him the upper hand, but it would help, oh yes.

Tracing one finger over the pages before him, he let the silence spin out for a moment longer before choosing his opening words with care.

"I expect your first day has been interesting." He did not look up as he said it.

"That is one word for it." Thor's tone was short, and he offered nothing more, though Loki sensed rather than saw that his brother's features had tightened.

"Ah, yes, all the _technicalities_ of the succession," Loki went on, now casually laying his book aside and leaning back on his elbows. He let his eyes flicker over Thor's face, his own head tilted in faint amusement. "I'm afraid I do not remember them with much fondness, but then, circumstances were rather different in my time—"

"I did not come down here to discuss my position."

Thor's hand had tightened around the gleaming length of Gungnir, but what Loki noticed most of all was that the usual hint of softness had gone from his brother's eyes; they were hard and shadowed under his brows now. Loki's smile dropped.

"No?" he enquired softly, and with one smooth movement pushed himself to his feet and crossed the bright floor to where Thor stood. "You can hardly ignore it; you would not be here otherwise."

"And I do not need you to tell me my place," Thor added tightly, very nearly cutting him off, and this time a note of command had edged its way into his voice. "It is time you learned yours."

Loki regarded him for several terse seconds, narrow-eyed, and then suddenly took a step back from the barrier, his hands spread disarmingly. "Oh, forgive me," he said, arching one brow with a delicate sort of scepticism, "I thought it was here."

His gaze roamed pointedly around the cell, though for him it was unnecessary; he had come to know every wall and corner of his underground home with frustrating intimacy over the duration of his imprisonment. He could recite without thinking the number of paces it took to get from one wall to its opposite, and could readily duplicate the amount of pressure needed from one hand to make the forcefield glow hot in warning (he had burned his palm twice, the second time on purpose, just to_ know_). Even the furnishings that he was allowed—bed, footstool, table and chair, a mirror against the far wall—had long since lost their novelty, and now seemed to serve only as a mockery of the chambers in Asgard's palace that he had once called his own. In fact, the only reason he had not refused them entirely was because he knew they had not been given to foster further spite.

Thor, to his credit, did not take the bait, and his eyes remained fixed on his brother. Loki stood there in silence and began to quietly reassess.

Tension started to mount as the silence lengthened, but as always, Loki's patience served him well; it was Thor who finally let out a soft, controlled breath and said, "It is"—but the qualifier that Loki expected did not come, and he felt for the first time a bite of impatience.

"And yet if that were true," he retorted crisply, clasping his hands behind his back, "you would, again, not have bothered to grace my little nook with your presence. " He gave a quiet laugh, short and breathless, his brows raised almost in an expression of pity as he went incredulously, "Are you trying to _lie_ to me?"

Thor's face darkened. "Not all of us have the advantage of two faces and a forked tongue," he said, sounding grim and far from patient. "Are you going to listen, or shall I return in a year or two with better expectations?"

Loki hummed consideringly under his breath without lessening his scrutiny of Thor's expression and posture. There was an undertone to this whole conversation that puzzled him, and the very fact that he could not make it out was irritating, to say the least. Usually, his brother's thoughts were like an open book, playing across Thor's face with all the subtlety of the hammer that their owner wielded, yet now they had become far less easy to reach, even for one as skilled at doing so as Loki. Either his powers of perception had been dulled through long confinement—possible, he thought, but unlikely in the extreme—or Thor was at last beginning to learn the meaning of the word _restraint. _Loki raised his chin.

"Let's hear it, then," he said softly.

Even with the abrupt conversational turnaround, Thor showed no surprise; he watched Loki for a moment longer before beginning to pace slowly up and down the length of the forcefield that divided them. "You know it already, I can see, but I will say it to you plainly: the All-Father has passed."

"It's been coming for some time now." Loki did not phrase it as a question, and received a sharp look in return.

"Yes." Thor gave a stiff nod.

"How did it happen?"

Thor's brow furrowed, perhaps in confusion that Loki had even bothered to ask, and Loki couldn't blame him; concern for Odin's well-being had never been one of his more noticeable traits.

"It was quiet," Thor answered shortly, "painless. He merely went from one sleep to the last."

"Pity," Loki murmured, his lips thinning, "I was hoping for something more lingering." He lifted one hand in front of his face and watched it for a few moments, as if in fascination.

"It was Father's will that has kept you here," Thor went on, his voice growing stronger, as though he were trying to maintain some certain velocity of speech. Loki suddenly had the idea that he might have rehearsed this beforehand. "His will, and his belief that you were beyond any kind of hope or redemption."

"Actually, he was all for my immediate execution. I was almost flattered."

"Mother stayed his hand—"

"Yes, Thor, I remember—I was _there_._" _Loki pushed his voice louder, no longer seeking to mask his anger behind mockery. "_You_, I noticed, were not."

The accusation was icy and pointed, for of everything that had transpired since his capture on Midgard, that had been one of the things to rankle most: that Thor, despite all his pleading and reminders and assertions of brotherhood, had taken Loki in hand only as far as the Bifrost observatory before making what must have been a very convenient escape. Loki had not seen him since—except for once, very briefly, when he had been led down to the subterranean levels to await the hour of Odin's judgement. He had caught a glimpse of Thor in one of the upper hallways, and though no words were exchanged, their glances had met—and Loki was quite certain it had not been he who had broken eye contact.

"What was it?" he went on harshly now, stepping nearer the barrier again. "You speak of Odin forsaking hope, but perhaps he was not the only one?" He could practically taste the contempt of his own words. "Or were you simply so riddled with _guilt_ that you couldn't bear to witness my sentencing?"

Loki could see Thor's shoulders going rigid with suppressed frustration as he spoke, and he found himself drawing a vindictive sort of pleasure from that, from the idea that he could still hurt his brother even imprisoned as he was. For a man to whom satisfaction was all but a myth, it was the next best thing.

"It was not my place to interfere," answered Thor quietly. His voice was low but barely controlled, threatening to snap at any moment.

A humourless, disbelieving laugh escaped Loki. "Oh, yes, of _course_—so says the one who gathered all of Midgard's warriors and arrayed them against me—"

"I pled for your life!"

Thor had whirled about, his eyes blazing with fury and with something else much more difficult to put a name to. Loki, about to retort, bit back the words he had been ready to throw and pressed his lips together in a sudden, unanticipated silence. He did not appreciate being taken off-guard.

"Why?" The question fell from his lips as no more than a whisper.

If Thor was surprised, he didn't show it, for he had turned away. "It matters not." And then his eyes flickered up to meet Loki's gaze once more. His next words were stern, and, Loki thought, faintly bitter. "But know that before you spoke to him I stood against Father, and that Mother is not the only one you have to thank for the fact that you are even alive today."

Loki's lips twisted slightly as a sour taste rose in his mouth. So Thor was thinking of calling in debts after all. What had gone unsaid was equally important: that this intervention on Thor's part had been the last.

Still watching his brother, Loki forced a low laugh despite his annoyance and spread his hands in front of him. "If you expect me to thank you on bended knee—" he began, but broke off abruptly when he saw, with an odd, misplaced twinge of disquiet, that his own mocking expression was mirrored perfectly on Thor's more rugged face.

"Do you not think I know you better than that?" Thor asked quietly, and even in his voice Loki heard the soft patronisation that came so often from his own lips.

"You've changed." Loki's features had hardened.

"Have you?"

"I rather doubt it."

_Lies._

"Then you are fortunate that are still some who think otherwise."

Loki kept quiet this time, his eyes narrowed and unblinking, his look one of detached calculation. They were getting closer to it—the reason why Thor had even bothered to make time for this seemingly pointless conversation. By rights Loki should have ended it long ago, but curiosity urged him forward. It could not have been easy for Thor to escape the never-ending duties and details that would ensure a proper succession; a visit to the dungeons would have ranked quite low on the priority scale, not the least because it was to a prisoner whose name had no doubt been wiped from the already dubious annals of Asgardian history.

Thor, undoubtedly expecting some sort of response, had paused again. Loki let out a soft, exasperated breath. Neither one of them was making this any easier.

"Surely," he said, reintroducing the quiet amusement to his voice, "surely you're not foolish enough to release me just because the All-Father has gone to his long-overdue rest."

It was a guess, but a considered one; he could think of no other premise for this little visit, and he knew immediately he had hit the mark when he saw Thor's posture tighten again. But he'd overstepped; Thor straightened and abruptly turned his back on the cell.

"The only folly I have displayed is in coming down here in the first place. If that is your attitude, then there is no more to say. Goodbye, Loki."

A startled, angry expression flashed over Loki's face; he stepped up quickly to the forcefield, cursing inwardly. "Thor!" He wondered if he was imagining the note of fear in his own voice. He suspected heavily that his brother was playing him, that this was merely a move in the game and not an end to it, but he could not shake the lingering possibility that he had indeed just forfeited his last chance for freedom.

His call went unheeded; Thor had neither hesitated nor glanced back, and in the space of a few seconds had disappeared from the cell's line of sight.

He was gone.

_Damn him. _

Fuming, Loki slammed his fist against the barrier—and the forcefield, mistaking the gesture for something more deliberate, immediately glowed bright and hot against his skin. Loki let it; his eyes were fixed on the place where Thor had stood only moments before, his thoughts murderous.

He had believed he could push his brother further than that before he would risk getting cut off, but it was obvious that Thor was through entertaining any sort of banter. Unable to trust Loki's implicit word, the King was now taking it utterly at face value, knowing all the while that truth was never held there so openly. It was a tactic that Loki, so used to watching his brother try to unravel the lies that he spun, had not expected. Childlike, really.

Childlike, but effective. Belatedly, Loki let his hand fall to his side. Never had allure of fresh air seemed so close as it did now, and yet still so hatefully beyond reach. He wanted out, and Thor knew it; but the asking price was an admission of helplessness, and to that he did not take kindly.

He was still seething as he returned to the other side of his prison and flung himself moodily down on the bed. Perhaps, next time…

Then he laughed, low and bitter. He would be fortunate if there _was_ a next time.

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_As always, any comments you lovely readers could leave are incredibly welcome, especially since this is my first foray into the MCU. :) Cheers!_


	2. II Deliverance

**Author's Note:** This chapter was pretty quick in coming after the first, but they'll be a bit more spread out from now on as I continue to write and revise them. Thanks for bearing with me! :)

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_II. Deliverance_

Loki was not at all surprised when his brother let him stew for a full fortnight before returning. Someone more charitable than he might have put it down to scheduling conflicts—the first week on the throne was brim-full with technicalities—but Loki knew otherwise. It was a display of power, and he appreciated it as such even if he was less than happy about the circumstances that had prompted it.

As before, Thor came unannounced—another little reminder, Loki thought sourly as he looked up, of their relative positions. But he was prepared this time, and did not try to feign ignorance again.

"I'm ready."

He watched his brother closely as he said it. He was standing in the middle of the cell, hands clasped behind his back, chin raised and head slightly tilted—a position not of threat, but of expectation. Thor said nothing. His expression was stony, and his eyes traced over Loki's thinner form as though even now expecting trickery. _You needn't worry, brother,_ thought Loki grimly; he wasn't about to risk his freedom again, even for the sake of landing a blow to Thor's pride. He arched a brow.

"You're very calm."

This earned him a hard, warning look from Thor.

"Should I be otherwise?"

"Given what you're about to do, I'd say—yes, you should be quite otherwise." Loki smiled thinly.

Thor's face darkened to a scowl. "I've not released you _yet_, Laufeyson."

"But we both know you're going to," said Loki calmly, inwardly suppressing the bite of irritation at his title. Only Odin had ever used that name to his face. "It's her, isn't it?" he went on, hoping that Thor did not notice the tiny pause that followed before he forced the name out. "Frigga. She wants this. That's why you've agreed to go against your own—and I must say, much wiser—judgement."

"She… maintains that there is still something in you worth saving." Thor's voice was softer; it was the first real admission he had made.

"Then she, too, has been blinded by sentiment."

Anger twisted Thor's countenance. "Do not speak of her like that."

"Why should I not? If the All-Mother is determined to remain as naïve as you yourself once were—"

"I said hold your tongue!"

It was not the shout that quelled Loki into silence, but the sudden ring that accompanied it—the sound of the King's staff glancing against the stone at Thor's feet. Lips slightly parted, Loki stared at his brother for several moments with a feeling of mingled shock and disbelief. The echoes had faded by the time he found the words he wanted.

"Do I speak to Thor," he whispered slowly, "or to Odin?"

Thor let out a growl of warning. "You speak to _me._"

"Is that so?" And with a sudden, wild recklessness, Loki laughed in his face. The mockery of it rebounded off the close confines of the cell as he gestured impatiently towards Gungnir with one hand. "With you banging that spear around just as he did—"

"I am not the All-Father!"

"_Prove me wrong!_" Loki hissed.

Their eyes met; the gauntlet had been thrown at last. Loki could see his brother stiffening, steeling himself for what must be done; Thor had no choice but to accept the challenge if he wanted to free himself from the weight of Odin's shadow. Almost, Loki smiled.

Very deliberately, and with a defiant curl of his lip, Thor brought the butt of the spear down once again on the floorstones. The forcefield dissolved, leaving in its wake a momentary haze of patterned gold. Loki drew a low and rather unsteady breath but remained unmoving. He was two—no, three paces away from the steps at the edge of the cell, and only now was he beginning to wonder what taking them might entail in the long run. Too late for second-guesses. Feigning confidence, he took a step forward.

He got no further than that. Thor was upon him in an instant, gripping him none too gently by the neck and forcing him back until he felt his spine collide painfully with the wall behind him. His eyes widened, and he had to force down an instinctive panic at the sudden physical contact. With a choked breath, he tried to twist away, realised immediately that it would do no good at all, and relaxed as best he could in his brother's grip. He looked directly into Thor's narrowed eyes, silently seeking explanations.

Thor looked grim. "You are right," he said tightly. "This is against my better judgement. And I am of half a mind to leave you here now and to let you serve out the duration of your sentence."

"I know." Loki could not smile now, his breath coming quick and shallow. He braced his palms against the wall on either side of him and tried to figure out what he was really saying. "I know."

"And," Thor went on in the same tone, "if I did—"

"Don't."

As much as he would have liked to, Loki did not look away. He needed Thor to understand what that one word was: for once not a command, but something more desperate. A request.

Several long seconds fell away, and then Thor abruptly released his hold. Whatever had passed between them just now, the moment was gone. Loki reached up a hand to massage his neck, breathing hoarsely with his eyes averted as he listened to his brother's next words.

"Not even Mother is foolish enough to think you can roam Asgard unchecked. There will be restrictions placed upon you, Loki, and I will not allow them to be bent in in any way. I will not risk the safety of our kingdom, and most definitely not for your sake." Thor turned, his glance heavy and warning. "Is that clear?"

Loki was still rubbing at his neck as he straightened. "Oh, yes," he agreed, "perfectly. Dare I ask what you have in mind?"

"Your chambers have been readied for you," said Thor, as though he had not heard. "You may bathe and change, and afterwards, I will explain to you exactly where you stand." He jerked his chin briefly but pointedly toward the cell steps.

His hand dropping, Loki raised his head. He was wary this time; he had no desire to find himself in a choke-hold again upon his first step. But Thor's anger seemed spent for the time being; he did not move as his brother slowly crossed the floor and stepped down into the darker, torch-lit hallway. Loki let out a hushed breath, feeling suddenly uneasy.

Two guards had stepped forward immediately from either side of the hall. Even here they were gold and gleaming, the last vestiges of Asgard's glory in a place that had seen much blacker things. Loki's lip curled as he watched Thor dismiss the Einherjar with a curt word and a shake of his head; and then they were walking, the two of them, Thor's steps loud and heavy, Loki's almost inaudible in his soft and well-worn shoes.

For Loki, the journey upward from the dungeons felt like the resurfacing of one who has been drowning for longer than he knows. The stifling, stone-cut passageways soon gave way to halls of deep gold, the familiar vaulted ceilings climbing higher and higher, and the floors beneath his feet were suddenly smooth and shining. He found himself straightening as they progressed, his eyes flitting constantly from side to side, and the anxiety he had felt upon Thor's second arrival began to fall away. As they passed another line of guards, he even amused himself for a few moments by very deliberately meeting the eyes of each and seeing which could summon the nerve to return his glance. None did.

Thor, in sharp contrast to all this, was becoming more and more tense; Loki did not even need to look to feel it. He cleared his throat softly.

"You know," he remarked blandly, raising one wrist, "I was expecting irons."

Thor glanced over. "I considered it."

"What stopped you?"

Predictably, he received no reply, and it was not until they reached their destination that Thor spoke again. Loki was somewhat surprised to find that when his brother had said _your chambers_ he had meant exactly that—these were the same rooms that had been Loki's when he had lived as a prince of the Realm.

There were guards here, too, stationed on either side of the door, but these Thor did not dismiss. Instead, he gave a curt order that the prisoner was not to leave in his absence, and at this Loki was hard-pressed not to laugh. Even if he had any intention of escaping the palace, he would go by way of the balcony, as he had so many times before when he'd needed to disappear for a few hours. The drop to the terrace was slightly awkward (he'd earned his fair share of bruising the first few times he'd tried it, in his youth), but not unmanageable if one knew how to go about it. At any rate, it wasn't as if he had anywhere to run to, now.

"Go," said Thor shortly, gesturing toward the door with the point of his spear. "I will return in one hour."

Loki gave a thin smile. "That sounds like a threat."

Thor scowled. "It will be, if you attempt any of your trickery."

With a soft, patronising laugh, Loki shook his head. "To what end?" he replied, shrugging. "I'm further along now than I have been in months, and," he added pointedly, pushing open the door with one hand and tossing the last words over his shoulder, "it's you I have to thank for that."

Smiling at the darkening look on his brother's face, he slipped inside and shut the door.


	3. III Resurfacing

_III. Resurfacing_

The first thing that struck Loki was the silence—how loud his breath suddenly seemed, and how the air rippled around him as he stepped into the chamber. He brushed his hand along the moulded doorframe, taking it in. It had never been silent in the cells; there was always the firm step of the guards, the low murmur from his fellow prisoners, and, underlying it all, the faint, never-ending drone that came from the forcefield barriers. How he had come to hate that low ringing in his ears day after day…

Here, though, it was as if time had come to a standstill. The same furniture rested on curved and gilded legs sunk deep into thick rug, the same shimmering tapestries hung against the walls, and in a niche in the far corner, Loki found the same little collection of vessels he had gathered in his spare moments, an age ago, it seemed. They were useless things—goblets, bowls, a narrow-necked vase; things he had admired for their curves or their scrollwork and that he had collected, magpie-like, simply for the sake of being able to look at them. They had been moved, he thought, though when he touched one, the finger that came away was soft with dust.

He felt more and more like a ghost as he moved through the rooms, once in a while reaching to brush his fingers against a surface or an object, but overall keeping the chambers very much at arm's length. He wasn't yet certain why, except that he did not like to be a reminded of a time he had long since resolved to leave behind him. He doubted Thor had given it much thought, at least in that way; most likely, this had just been the most convenient arrangement. But it made him vaguely uneasy, and he was glad when he could shake himself into a more focussed state of mind a few minutes later.

Fresh clothing had been laid out in his bedchamber, though he was quick to notice that none of it was armoured. Unsurprised, he draped a soft robe over his arm and went into the adjoining room.

Here, steam was rising from the large rectangular pool sunk into the tiled floor. There were the usual vials of soaps and oils lined against the nearby wall, and after kicking off his soft shoes, Loki entertained himself for a time by pouring them onto the surface of the water in increasingly complex patterns while he waited for the bath to cool. Only when the water was nearly lukewarm—and when a thin layer of oil and foam covered its surface—did he set the bottles aside again, discard his prison clothes, and slip with a faint sigh of relief into the pool.

The bath was tiered—shallower at the edges, deepest at its centre—and long enough that Loki had to swim to reach the far side. He did so, then soaked for a while, relishing the feel of the cooling water against his skin. Even the scars that rippled across his chest and shoulders made no protest here—but as the thought occurred, Loki's calm wavered again. He glanced down, then tipped his head back and shut his eyes.

The burn marks had long ago ceased to cause him physical pain, but their legacy was more lingering; Loki had tried and failed to heal them with his own powers, and having grown up under the tutelage of the All-Mother, he was inclined to put his failure down to the nature of the wounds rather than his own ineptitude. Permanence, he suspected, had been intended from the beginning by the one who had placed them there. They were reminders now, as much a part of him as his hands or his visage, and, perhaps, the last remnants of the young prince who had fallen into darkness, an eternity ago.

He must have lost track of time, eventually, because it seemed far too soon when he heard the hammering of a fist on the outer door and Thor's voice calling his name. He sighed, the breath exasperated; he hadn't _finished _yet.

"Loki!"

For a few seconds Loki considered getting out very quickly, but then discarded the idea. If Thor believed he could dictate his brother's every move from now on, he was soon to be met with a severe disappointment. Annoyed, Loki sank into the pool until the foam was lapping gently about his shoulders, and affixed a delicately incredulous look to his face as Thor appeared in the doorway.

"I should have known you would be still be here," the King said irritably, and then he blinked, his expression shifting to one of bemusement as he looked around. "I was expecting steam."

"Clearly you expected wrong."

But Loki's acidic tone seemed to have absolutely no effect, for Thor went on thoughtfully, "You always used to do that—do you remember?" He was glancing around the chamber now as though seeing it quite differently. "It took hours for the steam to clear whenever you had been in here."

Loki's eyes narrowed. There was something oddly like a smile beginning to form at Thor's lips, and whatever had prompted this little walk down memory lane, he wanted no part of it.

"Did you really come in here simply to reminisce at me?" he broke in loudly, leaning his head back against the edge of the pool.

Thor stiffened and looked at him, long and hard. "No," he said finally, "I did not."

"Excellent," Loki replied briskly, with a faint, false smile, "because I have absolutely no desire to hear it. Turn your back."

His brother snorted softly. "What do you care?"

Loki shot him a flat, level look. "Just do it."

Still looking sceptical, Thor turned slowly on the spot. Only when he was certain his brother was facing the wall did Loki pull himself lightly out of the bath, reach for the nearby robe, and wrap it tightly around his body. The silk felt unexpectedly smooth against his bare skin. Without turning around, he went on shortly, "You have a plan, obviously."

"Obviously."

With a smile, Loki turned to face him. "You had better," he said softly, warningly, "because I'm likely to have a few ideas of my own, and I rather doubt they coincide with yours."

Thor whirled around again, already scowling. "You will act as I see fit, brother, or you will be returned to your cell without regret."

"No regret?" Loki pushed back his wet hair and gave a low laugh as he strode past. "Don't lie to yourself, Thor; you were never very good at it." He went to the clothes that had been laid out, half-turning as he did so, and then for a heartbeat went still. Was it his imagination, or had Thor's dark look flickered for a moment to something nearly—_concerned_? Loki quickly drew the robe closer about his neck and retreated behind a screen to change, speaking again as though he had noticed nothing.

"You were right, after all. You are not Odin; you lack a certain callousness necessary for that role. You, fortunately for me, have a heart, and as much as you claim not to trust me, I do wonder how many of your threats have merit anymore."

A loud breath came from Thor's direction, followed by a testy, "Are you implying that you'd like to find out?"

Loki smiled to himself as he pulled a loose tunic over his head. _Oh, yes_, _eventually I must._ But aloud he returned only with, "Perhaps. I'm not inclined to take my chances quite yet, however, if it's all the same to you."

It was a few moments later when he emerged, fully dressed and carelessly wringing the leftover water from his hair. Thor was looking more and more impatient as the seconds passed, which did not surprise him in the slightest. Loki clasped his hands lightly behind his back and raised his chin expectantly.

"And now?"

"And now there is someone who wishes to see you."

Loki did not need anything more than Thor's faint change of expression to draw the right conclusion, and his own face tightened.

"No."

He said it very quickly, almost instinctively, and saw with a flash of anger that his brother had immediately recognised the apprehension for what it was.

"Problem?" asked Thor, far too pointedly.

Loki's returning glance was venomous. "I said no," he repeated. But it sounded childish, and there was no argument he could back that it with that would have any weight. Not this time.

"You think I do not know how she has been visiting you all this time?" Thor went on quietly, though there was a scathing undertone to his voice now.

"Perhaps she felt no need to keep it from you," Loki murmured, "but Odin—"

"He knew," Thor interrupted shortly, and Loki breathed a low hiss. "He wasn't pleased about it, but he had not the heart to deny her that."

Loki was quiet now, his thoughts filled with a sudden, unexpected sense of betrayal. Frigga's visits, projections though they were, had been one of the few things to break the monotony of an otherwise extremely tedious existence; and though he was not about to admit it to anyone, he had treasured them, in his own way, with a silent, selfish love that much preferred these secret visitations to something more open. He did not doubt that the All-Mother had needed to be more than a little persuasive when confronted on the matter, but to realise that the talks they had had might not have been as private as he'd thought…

There was a long pause. Then Thor continued, even more softly, "Do you really not wish to see her?"

Without answering, Loki abruptly turned his back and strode over to the wall, pretending to be interested in one of the small tapestries. He ran a hand gently over the interlocking threads as he played for time. He did want to see her, and yet at the same time rebelled against the idea, for Frigga had been able to see through him even when she was no more than a cast illusion. He feared very much what sort of insights a physical presence might give her.

"I don't suppose there is any way I can avoid it," he said finally, still absently eyeing the wall. It was not an answer to the question, but they both knew that.

"Then come."

The softness had gone again; this was a King's command. Loki closed his eyes momentarily, then turned and went ahead of his brother, wordlessly, through the rooms to the outer hall. He would play along—for now.


	4. IV The All-Mother

**Author's Note: **I didn't mean to update this so soon, but I guess I got excited. First time writing Frigga, so that was definitely interesting! I do hope I did her justice. :)

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_IV. The All-Mother_

There had been a time, not so long ago, when the Queen's chambers had been the palace's safest refuge. Loki had learned at a very young age that to come here meant to leave behind the anxieties and insecurities that pressed upon him in other places, and that he would find not judgement but a calm, untroubled acceptance. They were not the same rooms that were shared with the All-Father; these were the Frigga's personal spaces—her study, her garden, her meditation room—spaces that she returned to when she wished to be alone, and, on the rare occasion of a major disagreement, when Odin's bed was no longer agreeable to her.

For Loki, they had also been a place of learning. At Frigga's invitation, he had delved greedily into her personal library, retaining for himself the knowledge that had always been too slow or subtle for Thor and his friends. While the warriors-to-be spent long hours on the training grounds, Loki had sunk deep into the arts of magic, speech, and healing. At first, he had even relished the feeling of being set apart—of being _better_—and it was only as the years had passed, when more and more he was expected to uphold the warrior's standard as a prince of Asgard, that he had begun to feel the effects of his isolation more keenly.

He was not surprised, now, to find her here; with Odin gone, there was little reason for Frigga to remain in the upper chambers. Loki had managed to lock his mind into a place almost devoid of emotion during the walk down from his own rooms, but he had an uneasy feeling that maintaining his façade would be harder than he expected. Thor had said nothing at all, but it was he who knocked, more gently than usual, against the door.

"Come in."

Thor pushed open the door, then stepped back, giving Loki an irrefutable _you first_ sort of look. Drawing a long, slow breath, Loki slipped inside.

Frigga was seated on a low couch near the centre of the room. There was a book in her hand, but her eyes had the slightly misted look of one who had not turned a page for some time. She looked up as the door closed again behind Thor, and Loki quickly skirted around the edge of the room, half turning his back to avoid meeting her gaze.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as she rose, crossed the room, and embraced Thor fondly for a moment. She was in mourning. Loki shouldn't have been surprised at it, but he was; for some reason, he had managed to convince himself that the contempt he felt towards Odin was shared in part by the All-Mother—hadn't they always been different, the two of them? But she wore grey nonetheless, and Loki found himself hating the sight of it. He turned away.

"Should I stay?" Thor's voice was low and concerned.

"No, there's no need."

"Are you certain?"

Loki could almost feel his brother's wary eyes upon him, but Frigga must have put him off a second time with a shake of her head, for it was only a few seconds later when the door opened and closed again, and they were left alone.

Silence was the enemy this time. Loki circled around the edge of the room, picking up objects at random, feigning examination, and then putting them down again more loudly than necessary. His could feel his movements becoming more agitated each time, but still Frigga said nothing, and finally he found that he could bear the quiet no longer.

"Grey doesn't suit you." There was a candle in his hand, though he could not remember reaching for it.

"And yet still it is suitable."

"Is it?"

"One of the men I love is dead," Frigga replied calmly. "Of course it is."

Again Loki remained silent, still pacing around the walls, his hands moving without thought or reason except to give him something to concentrate on. Already his cool exterior was crumbling, and despite his best, desperate efforts, he did not seem able to properly rebuild the pieces.

"Loki."

A small urn, empty but for a sprinkling of dust at its bottom. There were runes etched into one of the handles; Loki quickly tried to make them out.

"Look at me."

It did not occur to him to disobey. Very slowly, he replaced the vessel upon the table and turned around. He forced himself to meet her eyes, though he wished that he didn't have to. "Why do you mourn for him?" he asked suddenly, his voice harsh.

Frigga's smile was warm, but rather sad. "Because I miss him," she said simply. Her dark skirts rustling, she shifted a chair aside and strode across the room, until she needed only to reach out a hand to touch him. "Because love is not conditional upon the views of others."

He stared at her, and when her hand came up as if to rest gently against his cheek, he thought for a moment that he might be able to let it. But it was too soon; he stiffened, and then his image abruptly flickered and vanished before she could touch him, reappearing just behind her. Frigga whirled around, her eyes snapping.

"That was uncalled for, Loki."

Loki pressed his lips together. "I must disagree."

"Do you consider me such an enemy that you must defend yourself against me?"

"Are you not?"

He saw that this time he had struck home; the lines of Frigga's face grew taut, and beneath the coolness of her eyes he saw a flicker of hurt before she pushed it out of sight.

"I was never your enemy," she returned softly. "I only ever wanted the best for you. But it is a mother's obligation to set right the path of her child when it has gone too far astray for him to see his own way back."

Loki looked at her with a bitter semblance of a smile. "Is that so? And do you not find it hypocritical, when you are responsible for setting him upon that path in the first place?"

Frigga sighed quietly. "Always you find it necessary to twist the truth—"

"You taught me subtlety instead of brute force," Loki went on, unrelenting, and with each moment his voice grew louder. "Cunning in the place of strength. You _gave_ me the very powers that you now profess to abhor my using."

Frigga's glance flashed, hinting anger for the first time. "I gave you the tools by which to hold your own in a world to which I knew you did not belong."

"And by doing so, see what you have wrought!" Loki spread his hands in front of him. "I am as much a creature of your teachings as Odin's neglect. Are you proud?"

It was a moment before she answered.

"I was."

Loki watched her silently, his eyes hard and expectant. Even now, with anger coursing through him, he knew she had more to say.

"I was proud of the young man I once saw. The man, the prince, who had grown to become his own person. The man who refused to walk in shadow—even that of his brother." Frigga had not broken eye contact, and Loki forced himself to do the same. "But now," she continued softly, "now I see a child again. Forever running from the things he fears most."

Loki swallowed, his fury gone as suddenly as it had come. Now he felt cold, uneasy. "What do you know of fear?" he whispered.

"More than you believe. But it runs stronger in you, and I would know its source."

"Why?" Loki was looking at her intently now, his fingers digging deep into his palms. He had meant to deny it, but found with a pang that he could not. Not to her.

Frigga's eyes bored into his own. "Because I felt it the night I found you, in the deepest reaches of the Void, and yet you have carried it with you even to this moment."

He stared at her for a long time, his breath caught somewhere in his throat where he did not know quite what to do with it. The night she spoke of, yes, he remembered it well, though not with any fondness. She had been a distraction then, a faint, glowing figure floating in the corner of his vision in the depths of Chitauri space, and though he had quickly banished the projection, he did not know how much she had seen. Now, Loki tried to hold her gaze; only by doing so would he have a chance of discovering how much she knew, but her eyes were like his—flickering and many-layered, and too practised to allow such an obvious intrusion.

"Regardless of what you may see in me," he said quietly, his voice adamant, "that story is not one you have earned the right to hear."

"Not even as a mother?" Frigga looked softly at him, shaking her head. Loki watched the light from the windows dance across the coils of her hair. "I think you will come to find, Loki, that even you cannot hide forever. One day, you will speak to someone of your fears, and it is my hope that it will ease your pain rather than prolong it."

There was something about the way she said it that made him look again. The words sounded less like a hope and more like she actually, truly believed it… But the slight smile on her face was as inscrutable as ever.

Loki resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and made sure that she saw it. "I'm touched," he said sarcastically. "Have we about finished with this little interview? I believe Thor wanted to set down some ground rules, and I'm _so_ looking forward to it."

"Be patient with him," she replied steadily, turning away now. "He has a great deal to live up to."

"_Patient_?" Loki gave a low, scornful laugh. "He will hardly accord me the same courtesy."

"That is because we both know you haven't earned it."

With a disbelieving arch of his brows, Loki followed her across the room, speaking as he did so. "I don't think you quite understand. Just because you have both conspired to let me see the light of day does _not_ mean I'm going to play nicely." He stepped in front of her, raising his chin. "I fully intend to make Thor's new life as irritating as possible, and if you do not expect that of me by now, you really shouldn't have gotten involved in the first place."

"I know you will." Her tone was infuriatingly calm, and before he could react she had patted him lightly on the wrist and brushed past him again. "It will be good for both of you."

Loki felt a bite of anger as his eyes followed her. "And is that what you've planned?"

Though Frigga paused, she did not turn around immediately. Loki could see the slow rise and fall of her shoulders as she drew a long breath. "Is what?" she asked softly.

"You know what," he retorted, his tone harsh. "Is this what you expect me to do now? Roam the palace under constant supervision, watching Thor blunder about in the kingship and occupying myself with—what, exactly?"

"That's your decision, Loki."

"But it's not, is it?" he demanded, pacing agitatedly back and forth behind her. "What you and Thor so _generously_ offer is little more than a mockery of freedom, and you know it. I am neither king nor prince nor prisoner—you simply don't know what to do with me, do you?" His lips twisted. "My place is _not here_."

Frigga turned abruptly to look at him. "And where do you think your place is?"

At that, Loki blinked and quieted. It was a question he still had not found an answer to, at least not for himself. "I don't have one," he answered softly, defiantly.

And because he could not leave it there, vulnerable in its truth, he added spitefully, "Odin made sure of that."


	5. V Family Ties

**Author's Note:** Just wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who's left their thoughts so far. It's been incredibly helpful for me, and I really do appreciate it. :) Onward!

* * *

_V. Family Ties_

"Father is dead."

Loki spun around, more than a little surprised that Thor had managed to come into the room unnoticed. He shot his brother a venomous, narrow-eyed look, but Thor merely returned it with an unimpressed arch of his brows before continuing, "There is little point in expending your anger against him now, brother."

"Is that so?" Without missing a beat, Loki clasped his hands behind his back and let a smile flit across his face. "I'll just have to, oh, I don't know—expend it on _you_."

Thor gave him a darkly amused glance. "Yes, I suppose you will."

Frigga had gone to a table at the far side of the room and was pouring what looked like wine from a decanter into three silver goblets. "If you're going to fight, do it outside," she said curtly without turning her head. "I'll not have you two going at each other in here."

"I will endeavour to keep that in mind," said Thor drily. He looked sidelong at Loki as he said it, but Loki merely made a derisive sound in the back of his throat and pointedly turned his gaze elsewhere.

"Here, Thor—give this to your brother." Frigga had turned, and now passed two of the goblets over to Thor, who took them with a stony expression that was more than a little telling. He crossed the few steps over to Loki, but by the time he got there, only the slight compression of his lips betrayed his tension as he offered one of the goblets.

Loki watched him, in that close, calculating way that he knew was so disconcerting. He could only imagine how much self-control Thor must be forcing at this point; he had the impression that the other's fingers were just itching to wrap around his neck again. With a smile touching at his mouth, Loki took the goblet delicately into his own hand. He waited until Frigga had joined them before letting out a sudden, breathless laugh and stepping back.

"You can't be serious," he said, looking between them. "What is this meant to be—a show of solidarity? A toast to a new beginning?" The mockery of his voice grew with each word.

"Perhaps," Frigga replied, unruffled. "Try to humour me, Loki."

"He is incapable of it," muttered Thor.

"As usual, you're both wrong." Loki swirled the wine absently in his hand. "I am perfectly capable, but I don't see why I should make the effort."

"Because you are being given the chance to make it," Thor said tightly, though Frigga's mouth, too, had opened to speak. "If you do not care to, we can just as easily return you to your accommodations below the citadel."

Loki remained silent as he raised the goblet gently to his lips, only to lower it again a second later, as if in sudden realisation. "Oh, I'm sorry—was that actually a threat?" he asked curiously. "I must have missed it, somehow."

Thor's face darkened to a scowl. "Loki…"

"Be still, both of you." There was a sharp, no-nonsense tone to Frigga's voice that made them both look at her at once. Even now, she could still manage to make them feel like children, and, personally, Loki did not much appreciate it. "I know it is far too much to expect you to reconcile your differences," she went on in a clear voice, and here Loki felt his brows climb sceptically higher, "—but be as that may, we are family."

Thor said nothing, his wine at his lips, but Loki, with a sudden surge of anger, spun around and set his goblet down hard on the nearest surface he could find. He wasn't careful about it, and he heard it clatter sideways as he whirled on Frigga again. "How easily the lies come to you," he hissed savagely. "When Thor brought me back to Asgard in chains—when _you_ stood there and watched them drag me to my eternal judgement—is this _family_?"

He suspected that Frigga might have replied, but already he had stopped listening, his steps carrying him across the room toward the window, where sunlight was spilling onto the floor from behind half-drawn curtains. Without really thinking about it, he lifted his hand in front of him and twisted his fingers. A small, slithering form appeared in a glow of green around his wrist. He watched it, bent all his concentration upon it, until, slowly, he began to feel the anger ebb away again. If only they would let him alone, perhaps he could resign himself to this half-life they offered, but that, he knew, was not to be. It had been too long since he had forfeited their trust.

"You're better at that than I ever was."

Although Loki had failed to hear her approach, he did not take his eyes from the serpent, which was now looping itself comfortably around his palm.

"Don't patronise me," he muttered flatly. "I don't need your praise."

"You cherished it, once," she reminded him.

Slowly, Loki bent down and let the snake wind its way from his fingers to the floor. It raised its head, peering intently at its surroundings, before curving over the toe of his boot and between his feet. "I'm not a child anymore," Loki said quietly, straightening again and shooting a sideways glance at his brother. Thor did not appear to have moved, though he was watching them with no pretence of subtlety.

Frigga tilted her head. "Is that why you fight me now when I try to protect you?"

"Oh, is that what it is? What with the chains and the lectures and the idle spectating, well, I'm afraid I must have mistook it for something else."

"Loki," she said reprovingly. "However you may judge my actions, I would never do anything to hurt you without cause." She held out both hands palm-up, watching him, until with some reluctance he placed his own hands gently within hers. Then he smiled thinly.

"And yet I notice the qualifier. _Without cause_."

"Sometimes we must be hurt before we learn," she returned softly. "It is the way of things."

Loki felt an unexpected sense of incredulity. "And you would do that, if you thought it would be to my benefit." His lips thinned again. "How touching."

"Yes." There was an odd flicker of a smile on her face as she said it, and her fingers curled around his wrists more firmly, as if in reassurance. "I would."

It was a split second before Loki realised what she had done—and then he abruptly wrenched his hands from hers, spitting curses and staggering away as he stared at the thin metal band encircling his left wrist. It was little more than a bracelet, but it was tight, and already the runes had sealed themselves around its entire rim. Wide-eyed and shaking, Loki raised his head again to stare at Frigga.

"How dare you—" His throat felt constricted with rage.

"I'm sorry, Loki." Frigga had not even the grace to look ashamed; she met his burning gaze without flinching.

"Did I not say there would be restrictions?" said Thor quietly.

Only now did he set his goblet aside and cross the room, and Loki whirled on him immediately, a furious, bitter taste welling in his mouth. "I thought—some petty list of rules—"

"Rules I know full well you would break without a second thought?" Thor finished pointedly, and shook his head. "You underestimate me, brother. I have not the power to strip you of your magic, more's the pity, but that band will restrain it." He nodded toward the gleam of silver on Loki's wrist. "And there it shall stay, until such time as you prove yourself worthy of our trust." For just a moment, his gaze softened. "It will not hurt you."

Loki clenched his teeth until his jaw began to ache from it, even as he tried to curl his fingers around the rim of the band. He knew already it would not come off, but the irrational urge to force it anyway was too strong. Only after his fingertips had slipped for the fourth time and his nails had left a pattern of red marks along his wrist did he fix his gaze on Thor again. This time, his voice was deadly quiet.

"Get it off."

Thor ignored him. "You are not to leave the palace," he continued warningly.

"Get. It. _Off_."

"I can't."

Loki stared at him. "_What_?"

"You know as well as I do that magic is your specialty, not mine." Thor glanced sideways, towards Frigga. "Only Mother's word can remove it."

Forcing down a feeling of panic, Loki spun on his heel to look at Frigga. Even before he had made eye contact, however, she had given her answer.

"No, Loki," she said softly.

He felt something in his chest twist and tighten, and he dug his fingers hard into his palms to keep from voicing words he might later regret. There was still warmth in Frigga's eyes, soft and regretful, and it hurt him almost with a physical pain to see it directed at himself. He bit down tightly on his lip. _Don't do this to me_. _Not you._ He would have expected it from Odin, _should_ have expected it from Thor, but Frigga…

Long moments passed, in which Loki could hear nothing but the hiss of his breath and the rush of blood in his ears. His thought his hands might be trembling, whether with fear or rage or some combination of the two, but he could not feel them enough to tell. Twice his lips parted and closed again in silence. When he finally forced out his next words, they were low with suppressed fury.

"Congratulations to both of you. If ever you hoped for my cooperation, you may now consider that chance forfeited."

He was gone before they could answer, walking quickly from the room until he was running, and until the pounding of his own heart drowned out everything else. Only when he found himself breathless and alone on one of the upper terraces did he stop, and there he stood for some time, breathing deeply, fighting back the shadows that tried to creep yet again into his mind, and staring hard at the band that had already begun to pulse softly against his skin.


	6. VI Threats and Promises

_VI. Threats and Promises_

So great was his anger at Thor and Frigga's combined treachery that it was nearly a month before Loki would speak a civil word to either of them. A small—very small—and more clearly-thinking part of him knew he should have expected something like this, but the knowledge was soon suppressed under a heavy sheet of bitterness. Only one moment gave him pause, and that was a brief one at best—a chance exchange between Frigga and Thor that Loki, having made it a point to distance himself from both of them, stumbled upon quite by accident.

"—should have waited until he was more comfortable," Thor was saying in a low voice. He and Frigga were standing in one of the pillared outer halls, conversing quietly. Loki felt his eyes narrow, and then he ducked into the shadows of a nearby alcove to listen.

"You know we could not." Frigga's words were firm, if resigned. "It would have made no difference, not to him."

"Yes, but still—"

"I gave your father my word," Frigga broke in sharply.

There was a long pause, and then Thor's voice came again, quiet and conceding. "I know."

Loki would have liked to eavesdrop further, but it was about that moment that he heard the steady, even march of a guard's footsteps approaching, and, cursing silently, he was forced to slip away again.

He did not know if he was more angry or relieved that this did not seem to be entirely Frigga's idea, though the fact remained, he reminded himself darkly, that she was far from guiltless. He tried not to dwell on it too much. He spent his time alone, re-learning the hidden places of the palace, or else lingering in the shadows just out of sight, where he could watch and assess the world that he had returned to. But though it was tempting, he dared not leave the city; it was as much a haven as it was a prison, though he had not confided the reasons why to anyone; and without his magic, he had to trust in Asgard's defences more than ever.

Odin's funeral, of course, was an affair of state magnificence—and Loki's sole contribution was to ignore all summons and, instead, to watch from his balcony as several hundred flaming vessels sailed into the vastness of the dark beyond the Asgard's watery borders. He was silent and tight-lipped as he watched. His only regret was that he had been unsuccessful in his attempts to visit the body—not, as he assured Thor, because of any sentiment, but because he wanted to confirm for himself what he already knew to be true.

His brother had remained unimpressed. "Let vengeance rest for once in your life," he had growled, taking Loki roughly by the shoulder and forcing him away from the chamber doors.

"What could I possibly do _now_?" Loki asked waspishly as he twisted away. "He _is_ dead."

"I don't care to find out," Thor retorted. "But if I discover you here again, Loki, you will be confined to tighter quarters than the palace."

And that was that.

Watching Thor's rule was a source of both amusement and frustration for Loki. He could see his brother struggling to adjust to the new weight that had been placed upon him, and although Loki was more than a little entertained by the process, he also found himself increasingly irritated that he could not have a hand in it. Just because Thor had been _taught_ diplomacy didn't mean he was any good at it, and there came a point when it was all Loki could do to resist stepping in and rectifying things himself. Asgard was lucky that the Realms knew Thor well enough to allow him some breathing space, but Loki was direly convinced that it was only a matter of time before someone less well-meaning took advantage of the young King's reign—and, contrary to popular opinion, he had no desire to see that happen. He needed Asgard too badly to watch it flounder in the throes of an uncertain kingship.

Still, he could not deny that Thor was coping better than he had expected. He was well-liked, certainly more than Odin had been, and at the very least he had Frigga to stop him from making any truly idiotic decisions. Loki kept his eyes open and his mouth shut, and, as usual, he soon found that he knew as much about what was going on as Thor did, if not more.

Harder to evade were the Warriors Three, and the Lady Sif in particular, who seemed determined whenever she was not off-world to keep an infuriatingly close eye on him. She trusted him even less than Thor did, and while Loki admired that show of intelligence, he could not deny that avoiding her was becoming more of a nuisance than a challenge after a while. He was not certain when Thor's friends had been informed of his release, but informed they had been, and their first encounter had been rife with tension.

Loki had been in one of the smaller and, at the time, completely empty side halls on the main level, perched on one of the wide window ledges and trying once again to test the limits of the band around his wrist. There was a pale imitation of himself shivering in the air before him, but the sound of footsteps broke his concentration, and with a quick gesture he let the half-formed illusion flicker and dissolve again. Eyes narrowed, he craned his neck to the side until he could see past the pillar that was partially blocking his view, and then let out a breath of annoyance when he saw the four figures coming towards him. Perfect. Just what he needed—another interrogation. He could have hidden, he supposed, but to be honest he didn't much feel like making the effort.

He drew his sleeve down over his wrist again and waited for the inevitable moment when one of them would notice him. It was Hogun, naturally, who abruptly slowed his steps and muttered something to the others. Loki watched with bare amusement as they all turned their eyes in his direction, and then he tipped his head back against the wall and pretended to ignore them completely. When he heard their steps only a few feet away, however, he made sure he was the first to speak.

"And here was me thinking at least one of you might have the sense to leave me alone." He cracked open one eye, scanning them irritably from his perch.

"And _we_ thought _you _would have the sense to remain out of sight," said Sif, her gaze flashing. "Looks like everyone is wrong. What are you doing here?"

"Sitting. Hello, Sif." Smiling mockingly at her, Loki straightened his back against the window and eyed them each in turn.

"We were told you were under restrictions," said Volstagg. He had come up behind Sif's shoulder, and the look on his face was far from friendly.

"And so I am," Loki agreed, slipping down from the window ledge and spreading his hands before him. "I am also under the protection of the King, so, please—" he softened his expression to one of false sympathy "—don't do anything drastic."

Fandral looked annoyed but unsurprised. "I suppose running him through might fall under that category," he murmured, sounding faintly regretful.

Sif had not taken her eyes from Loki for even a moment. "I don't know; we could probably think of an adequate excuse."

His smile fading, Loki glanced between them, taking in Volstagg's scowl, Fandral's wary expression, and the identical narrow-eyed looks on the faces of Hogun and Sif. "And we used to be _such_ friends," he said softly. He shrugged, then turned and slipped past them toward the centre of the hall. He was not worried; they would not dare do anything to him here, as much as they might wish to.

"Loki."

Sif's voice echoed loudly here, and, suppressing a smile, Loki paused his steps and turned to face her again.

"If you betray Thor _in_ _any way_—"

"Then I will make sure you are the first to know, Sif."

His humour, however, went unappreciated, for Sif abruptly drew her sword and advanced on him. He stood quite still, careful not to flinch even when the blade tip was a mere hairsbreadth from his throat. "Such violence in the halls of Odin," he whispered, watching her eyes snapping with anger. "And he's only been gone a few days. I hate to imagine what things will be like in a month or two."

"I'm glad you're imagining it," she retorted tightly. "Because unless you are very, very careful, you will not live long enough to find out."

She held him at swordpoint for a moment longer, and then turned away again with a soft sound of disgust. Fandral and Hogun were quick to follow, but Loki noticed that Volstagg's eyes remained on him for several moments longer before he, too turned his back. In a few seconds, the sound of their steps had faded from the hall.

Only when he was certain they would not return did Loki breathe a long sigh and allow a sour expression to form upon his face. It had been long since he had feared any of them, but they would certainly not make his life any easier—and the less they knew about his _restrictions_, the better. With a scowl, Loki pushed back his sleeve and stared again at the silver cuff.

It had taken him nearly a week in the palace library to discover where and how such an object had come to be, for he had known from the start that although Frigga had placed it upon him, she was not its maker. This was magic much stronger than the All-Mother's, and certainly stronger than his own. Loki spent both days and nights among the endless shelves and winding staircases of the library, poring over tomes so forgotten that they spat dust into his face when he first opened them. Once, he thought he saw Frigga watching him from a nearby doorway, but after that first glance he pretended not to see her, and when he looked again a few minutes later, she had gone.

The rune-covered band was not an ancient relic, but it couldn't exactly be called a recent artefact, either; from his research, Loki guessed that it had been made sometime during the early reign of Odin. The fact that it had been created at all only served to fuel his already long-burning hatred for the late All-Father, for while the band's origins remained misty, its purpose was all too clear: to act as a seal against the magic of an individual. Loki had always known that Odin had been rather too fond of control—now he had further proof. But though he spent many hours searching, he failed to discover any clue as to whom had first suffered under the band's power, or the identity of the hand that had crafted it.

Loki had, naturally, made various attempts to remove the object, despite a nasty, lingering suspicion that he would be unable to do so. And for once, Thor proved right—nothing that Loki tried had the slightest effect in even loosening the thing, and in fact sometimes caused quite the opposite, until Loki clenched his teeth at the pressure around his wrist. It seemed that it was indeed only the word of the All-Mother that would unseal his powers.

Having come to that unfortunate conclusion, Loki set about doing the next best thing: testing the limits of the band's restrictions. Most often at night, in the darkened, vacant side rooms of the palace, he began to discover exactly how far he could go, and what the consequences would be of stepping beyond that invisible line.

For three straight nights he went without sleep. He flitted like a shadow through the empty halls, locked himself where he would not be disturbed, and each night gave fuel to a mounting frustration at the situation he had been placed in. It wasn't as though his powers had been drained from him—as Thor had implied, there was no force on Asgard that could accomplish that—but rather were being contained. His magic was there, but useless. All but the weakest spells dissolved before they had even left his hand, and when he cast an illusion of himself in the air before him, the image was translucent and shivering, a mere child's attempt, and he could not hold it for long.

Furious, Loki slammed his fist against the wall, and the figure vanished.

Thor had said the band would not hurt him. He was wrong, but his brother could not know that. Physically, the cuff reacted only when Loki tried deliberately to overcome it, and the pressure was meant to warn, not to harm. But in his mind, it was like another shadow—whispering at him, reminding him of his own helplessness, and ensuring by default that if the worst should happen, he would be powerless to defend himself.

He sat down in a corner furthest from the door, wrapped his arms around his knees, and slowly let his head drop until, with half-closed eyes, he could see only darkness. It was comforting after so long in his cell, where the light had stabbed constantly into his vision until he shut his eyes for hours on end, or else awakened suddenly and stretched out his hand to every object within reach, just to remind himself of where he was.

Loki breathed a soft sigh. They likely thought that he was afraid of darkness—he had fallen into the Void, after all, into the eternal shadow.

But for all that, they were wrong. It was light that pained him now.

What he was unwilling to admit—but what was becoming increasingly clear—was that he was no longer at full strength, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the band throbbing softly and steadily against his wrist. He was weakened, and had been since even before his arrival on Midgard. There, he'd had the energy of the Tesseract to make up for the loss, but with the Cube now denied to him, he was beginning to feel again the damage that had been done.

Quite suddenly, Loki pushed himself to his feet. He did not need to let his thoughts wander down that dark path again.

He snuck into the armoury as soon as he was able, for with his magic kept in check, he did not care to find himself defenceless, and he doubted that asking politely for a weapon or two would be taken well. Even without his powers, he had little trouble; he had not earned his name of trickster for nothing, and from a shadowy alcove he watched with smirk as the guards disappeared around the corner to investigate a noise produced by absolutely nothing. He gave it a few seconds longer before slipping silently from his hiding place and edging quickly beyond the armoury door.

It was early, at least an hour before dawn, and the long, low hall was dark and silent. Loki padded quietly amongst the racks of weapons, ignoring the armour that was stacked like sleeping bodies against the wall to his left—his would not be here, nor did he want it. Best to remain inconspicuous with everything so uncertain at present.

He found what was looking for toward the end of the hall: a rack of dirks and daggers that tended to see much less use than the swords and spears held in higher regard. Too often such small blades were seen as the weapon of the desperate, but Loki knew otherwise. They simply required a more refined and intimate touch, but then, few of Asgard's warriors had the patience to master that. Loki trailed his hand along the line of pommels and after a moment's thought flipped one of the daggers into his hand. All the blades here were of the finest make, but as he ran his finger lightly along the dagger's edge, it occurred to him that now might be the perfect time to test something he had suspected long ago…

A slight sound from outside the hall caused him to twist his head around very sharply. He held his breath, listening with his heart skipping and his body braced to dart into the shadows. After several tense moments, however, everything was as silent as before.

Loki let out his breath again and quickly tucked the dagger beneath his tunic. Alone he might be, but he had lingered too long already, and he did not want to be found here when dawn broke and the Einherjar returned from their night guard. Taking another small blade from the rack for good measure, he turned back the way he had come. He would have to wait until the following night to begin his work.


	7. VII Deception

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the slight delay in this chapter! Life, you know. :)

After the past couple of chapters, I feel it perhaps necessary to add that I do write these characters - all of them - as flawed ones. All of them have their weaknesses, their shortcomings, and I like to keep them that way. For me, it makes them real. So, yes, they're all going to make mistake and errors in judgement at some point, or many. I find it makes the story all the more interesting, however. Hope you guys find the same.

* * *

_VII. Deception_

Asgard's main forges lay some ways beyond the palace, closer to the mountains whose feet stretched at some points almost into the city itself. They were easily accessible to one who had spent more than his fair share of nights exploring back alleys—_if _he didn't get caught. Loki had no desire to find himself explaining to Thor why he had been sneaking about the city in the early hours of the morning. Not that Thor would be surprised, really.

He drew a dark hood over his head as soon as he reached the ground level outside the citadel, and after a quick glance at his surroundings, set out into the streets. They seemed unusually lively for this time of night; he kept hearing snatches of singing, and laughter, and the flare of lights was brighter than he remembered. At first he thought it might just be the adjustment from his long isolation, but everywhere he went it was the same—children skipping and tugging at the hands of their parents, knots of comrades lingering outside of taverns with cups of mead in their hands. Loki sidestepped a pair of swaying patrons and tugged his hood a little lower over his face.

It was when he reached the corner of a market square, where a crowd had gathered and where music filled the night air, that he began to have some idea of what was going on. There were couples dancing in several rings in the middle of the open area, surrounded by more cheering and clapping, and at the far side of the square a group of cloaked musicians had taken up a lively tune. Loki skirted around the edge of it all, and only when he had made it to the opposite side did he cast about for someone to speak to. His eyes found a short but well-dressed man whose ruddy complexion already betrayed a few bygone drinks. Excellent—he would not be remembered. He went and tapped the fellow on the shoulder.

"Pardon me," he said lightly, for a moment surprised at how easily the small words came to him, the _act, _"but I was wondering what the, ah, occasion was." He nodded in the direction of the dancing.

The man squinted at him, likely trying to see past the shadow of Loki's hood. "What? Where have you been, eh?"

Loki gave a thin smile. "Here and there. I was just… curious."

"You and the rest of Asgard, friend!" the man returned, with an unsteady chuckle. He raised his hand, seemingly oblivious to the fact that there was no glass or tankard contained within it. "To the Veurr!"

_The Veurr. Of course_. Loki let out a soft breath of realisation, turned, and ducked away without another word.

He had not bothered to keep track of time since his release, but he knew now that it must be ten days following the funeral. Ten days of mourning, and then the feast of the _Veurr_, the Protector—a chance for the people to celebrate the life of the King that was past, and to welcome in the one that was to come. He had read of it, but of course there had never been one in his lifetime; Odin had been only asleep in the brief time that he had taken the throne.

At any rate, it would certainly make moving about the city much easier tonight. He would be merely one more face among the crowds, and the guards would be looking for troublemakers, not shadows. Luck was with him—for now.

The festivities began to dim the further away from the citadel he walked. The open courtyard by the forges was deserted when he came to it; even the guards who should have been posted there seemed to have abandoned their thankless task for one that promised more merriment. Loki scanned the darkness for any sign of movement before hurrying across the open space and slipping between the arches of the compound.

He found a lamp just inside, and with a practised twist of his hand thrust it upward above his head, where it spun for a moment and then flared brightly, illuminating the workspace that the smiths had left. A smile flickered over his lips; this would serve well indeed.

Loki worked long that night, heating and cooling, shaping and hammering, and slowly the first dagger that he had taken from the armoury began to change. Thanks to the band around his wrist, he could not make use of his own magic here, but he didn't have to; there were other forms of power, built already into the tools and flames of the smiths, and these were just as potent for what he needed. As the air around him shimmered, he set runes of cunning and illusion into the dagger's hilt, reinforcing them with a low, continuous stream of words. Then he took the second weapon, and with a low breath ran its edge very deliberately across the flat of his palm before setting it aside. He watched in quiet satisfaction as the blood dripped down to land with a hiss onto the new, glowing blade, where for the space of a heartbeat it burned white and cold, like ice.

_So it did work._

Holding his breath and reaching back within himself, Loki slowly raised his hand in front of his face—and as he concentrated, supressing a feeling of revulsion, he watched his skin cool and darken down to his wrist. Something within him twisted.

The barriers had been broken. He had suspected as much, though in the midst of fear and fire and light he had lacked the courage—and later, the will—necessary to ascertain it for himself. Even now, the memories were far too fresh for him to do more than this, but at least he _knew_. And now, as much as he despised it, now he controlled a magic that was too ancient, too _innate_, even for Thor Odinson to contain—and with this new weapon, restricted or not, he would not be defenceless.

It was nearly dawn by the time he finished, and though he was glad to leave the stifling air of the forges, he did not regret the time spent. The weapon that he held now before his eyes was still fairly plain, its hilt wrapped in strips of dark leather, but there would be few blades that could mark it, and it would make its own powers known when the time was right. Loki twisted his hand, watching as the dagger vanished from between his fingers, and with a satisfied breath, he tucked the unchanged one back beneath his tunic.

He made certain to leave everything exactly as it had been found, and simply had to hope that the festivities would keep the smiths abed much later than usual, giving the forge time to cool again. And if not… well, there was no reason for the disturbance to be traced back to him.

Loki could see the skyline beginning to lighten as he stepped out into the courtyard again, though the city itself remained dim. It was quieter now as he made his way through the streets; the celebrations had at long last given way to a hushed, pre-dawn murmur. All the same, he kept to the shadows as much as possible, wary of becoming careless now that his night's goal had been achieved. Besides, there were still some few people about—early risers or late revellers—and now there was no crowd for him to blend into.

It two such figures that caught his attention perhaps ten minutes later—figures that he would have paid no mind, but for the fact that they were moving almost as furtively as he was, and they, too, had deep cowls drawn over their heads. Loki watched them cautiously from the shadow of a nearby building as he weighed his options. He was cutting his excursion quite close as it was, but already he could feel curiosity beginning its insistent tug at his mind, and he was not surprised, really, when he found himself changing course to follow the dark-cloaked pair. He was quieter than they, his steps careful and silent. When they paused in a narrow alley, he quickly ducked into the shadow of the nearest archway to listen.

"What have you heard?"

The words were low and rasping, as though trying too hard not to be overheard. Loki felt his eyes widen of their own accord, and he strained his hearing more intently. He _knew_ that accent, and it should not have been within the city walls.

"Their forces are divided—they are spreading thinner all the time." The answering voice was so quiet that Loki dared to take a step forward in the shadows in order to make out the words. "Parties from the garrison depart off-world almost every day, and not all return before nightfall."

"What of the city guard?"

"Minimal—the necessities only."

"And the mountain outposts?"

Loki thought he detected a smile in the second voice's reply. "They maintain a presence there, of course, but it is no more than half the usual size. More will be summoned off-world before the month is out."

The first let out a low, intent hiss. "You're certain of this?"

"Quite certain," was the soft, confident answer. "Hreidarr has no reason to deceive us."

"Only to save his own neck, if he has been found out."

"He has not."

There was a pause. "We're not ready yet," the first muttered, with a hint of irritation now. "Nor will we be for some time." There was a rustle of movement, though what it denoted, Loki could not tell. "As always, you have done well."

The other gave a low laugh. "Of course. And I shall continue to do so."

"Be sure that you do—but don't return here. We'll send word when you are to give your next report."

A whisper followed, so quiet that Loki could not hear, and he was not quick enough to move closer before he sensed one of the figures departing. He flattened himself again in the shadows. Not until he knew both speakers had gone did he move again and turn his steps quickly in the direction of the citadel. His thoughts as he walked, however, were not on his path.

A traitor amongst the Asgardian forces was not unlikely, at least not to Loki's cynical mind. There would always be one or two looking for something extra with which to line their pockets, and the guards were in the advantageous position of knowing many of the kingdom's movements. With battles raging throughout the Nine, and a new king only recently ascended to the throne, it was the perfect time to sow a bit of instability off-world. Loki might have been tempted to it himself, if he didn't already have high stakes in this game.

But no, what disquieted him most now were the voices themselves. One, the second, had been Asgardian, surely Einherjar, but the other… It had been many years since he'd heard that accent, but he knew it all the same. It was the voice of a man whose people had left the city long ago—the voice of one of the Drey.

Loki tasted the word soundlessly on his tongue. _Dreyrugar._ It bore with it the suggestion of many things—treachery, deceit, little more than myth—but for all that, it was only too real. Loki did not think there were many who knew that, though.

He quickened his pace, still thinking. They must have taken advantage of the night's merriment to sneak into the city—and that meant that this plot, whatever it was, was not aimed off-world. The strike would come against Asgard itself.

* * *

Getting back into the palace was not nearly as easy as getting out. Dawn had broken by the time Loki found himself within the citadel's shadow, and he was forced to travel a long circuit around the outer terraces before he found a point where he could slip past the Einherjar. Even then, his mind was not entirely focussed, and twice he ducked into the shadows just seconds before the guards passed him by.

Thor was waiting for him just outside his chambers.

"_Ah_." Loki formed a mild, let-me-explain sort of expression on his face, more because it would annoy his brother than because he expected it to do any actual good. Subtly, he closed his hand over the shallow cut on his palm so that Thor would not see it.

"Where have you been?" Thor asked flatly.

Loki eyed him for a moment. For a man who had been the reason for a whole night's revelry city-wide, Thor looked remarkably composed. Loki gave a light, incredulous frown and asked curiously, "Shouldn't you be draped over a bench by now?"

"I've no reason to be," Thor returned stonily. "Where—"

"The entire Realm has been feasting in your honour," Loki interrupted him, rather amused now, "and you're trying to tell me you haven't had even one drink?"

Thor took a step closer. "_Where have you been_?"

"Here and there."

"And did you think me jesting, when I said you were to stay within the palace?"

"No," Loki answered calmly, "but you may as well have been—you didn't _actually_ expect me to listen, did you?" He gave a thin laugh and a shrug. "You can play king all you like, brother, but it doesn't mean a thing to me."

Thor's face was stony. "You deceive only yourself, Loki," he said, going on more ominously, "And if you ever hope to have your powers restored to you, you will learn not to try my patience."

Loki felt his eyes go a bit flat. "You think yourself so powerful, don't you?" he breathed, stepping forward. One hand had gone automatically to the cuff set around the other. "Thor Odinson, King of Asgard, with the betrayer tight under his thumb. You must be so pleased with yourself."

His brother stiffened, and in the moment that followed Loki braced himself for a blow—but it didn't come. Thor abruptly turned on his heel and strode away, his voice echoing grimly back down the hallway—"Tread with care, Loki."

Loki stood there for some time, scowling at his brother's back until it was out of sight, and he was still tracing his fingers absently over the silver band as he slipped into his chambers and shut the door. Whether Thor had seen him leave the citadel, or had just made a shrewd guess, he wasn't certain—but either way, he would have to be more careful next time. Restrained as he was, what little freedom he did have was more precious than ever.


	8. VIII Eirik

**Author's Note:** Due to life, it may be two weeks or so instead of one before I can update again. Apologies, and thanks for bearing with me. :)

* * *

_VIII. Eirik _

_You think you know pain?_

I do not fear you—

_If you fail—if the Tesseract is kept from us—_

No…

_ …__there will be no barren moon, no _crevice_, where he can't find you—_

"Leave me!"

Loki awoke with a loud intake of breath, a gasp so sharp that he felt a brief, shooting pain lance through his chest. Shaking, he raised his head. His glance darted wildly, desperately, around the dim room, but it was quiet, and as he felt the bedclothes crumple beneath his fingers, he gave a shuddering breath and lay back again.

_Damn it._

He could feel the sweat cooling on his brow as he lay there. He shut his eyes, trying to banish the sound of the low Chitauri rasp in his ear that even in memory was so full of malice, of contempt. But it was the words that he feared, not their speaker.

With a suddenness that made his head spin, Loki rose from his bed and padded to the nearest window. He twitched the heavy draperies back slightly, allowing a sliver of sunlight to pierce the dimness, and he felt a flicker of bemusement as he realised it was already after midday. He narrowed his eyes against the light, made as if to pull drapes back all the way, and then decided against it. His hand fell.

Nearly two weeks had passed since his excursion into the city, and if he had to honest with himself, he was surprised that this hadn't happened sooner. The dreams. How he had kept them at bay this long, he didn't know.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and dropped his head into his hands, fingers massaging at his forehead in a feeble attempt at reassurance. This wasn't madness, he told himself. He knew the difference. Madness was blue in his vision, speech dry in his throat, gold gleaming in his hand. Madness was believing the same words he spoke. With a return to Asgard had come a return to the lies, and it would almost have been a comfort, had he not known what they concealed.

_This is memory_. He mouthed the words silently to himself. _This is memory. Nothing more. _

After a time, Loki rose again, simply because remaining still did nothing to distract him from the dark thoughts that threatened the edges of his mind. He went to the shallow basin in its niche in the wall, splashing cool water over his face and letting it trickle down his neck and chest. He had just pulled a soft tunic over his head when he heard a low sound from the outer room, and, frowning, he went to the door and eased it open with one hand.

The door to the hallway was slightly ajar, and in the middle of the room was a boy, almost a young man, Loki thought, but not quite. His back was turned; he was bent over, carefully setting a tray of food and drink on the low table.

Loki felt his eyebrows go up. This was Thor's doing, perhaps, but considering that most conversations he'd had with his brother in the past few weeks had not ended well, he somehow doubted it. He edged into the room, calling sharply, "What are you doing in here?"

The boy whirled around with a sharp intake of breath, barely catching the goblet that had slipped from his fingers as he turned. His eyes were wide, and though Loki saw the usual fear in them, he also thought he detected something else—curiosity?

"M-my lord, I was just—I was—"

The title took Loki by surprise, but he didn't allow it to show. "Did the King send you here?" he asked bluntly, and not without a rather acidic note to the words.

The boy shook his head slowly, though it was the only part of him that moved; he seemed afraid to even twitch in Loki's presence. Forcing patience, Loki tried again. "But someone _did_ send you."

"Not… not exactly, my lord." The boy bit his lip, avoiding Loki's glance.

"No?" Loki's eyes narrowed slightly as he surveyed the other more closely now. The boy's hair and skin were dark, possibly Vanir, and there was lankiness to him that Loki could still partially recall from his own youth, though the memories were blurred, as though from disuse. His irritation rapidly fading to curiosity, Loki went on slowly, "You came of your own will, then—not the wisest decision you've ever made, by the way." He pushed himself lightly away from the door. "Why?"

To this, the boy gave no answer, though it was not for want of trying; Loki saw his mouth open and close several times in silence in an effort to respond. In the end, tiring of giving these chances, Loki answered for him.

"You were curious."

The boy swallowed, neither confirming nor denying this, but his expression was open, easily read. Loki gave a faint, humourless half smile and paced forward again, going on softly, "Oh, but the _stories_ you must have heard. The rumours, the accusations… I, too, have heard the whispers, from the fools who know me not, or but a little." He paused at the edge of the table, looking down at the boy with his head tilted and relishing, for a moment, this illusion of power. "Yet here you are—very brave, for one so young."

"I can join the Einherjar in a year," the boy said suddenly, his tone defensive and bearing all the fragile pride of youth.

"And yet you risk even that pitiful future in coming here uninvited," Loki returned softly. He didn't know why he was continuing this—encouraging it—when it would have been so much easier to drive the boy from the room and return to his silence; and yet still he found himself speaking. Surely, he thought contemptuously to himself, surely he did not miss company _that_ badly. "Either you do not believe me as dangerous as the rumours say—and I _am_, and much more—or you simply possess a remarkable aversion to long life." He fell silent, letting his words linger in the air, delicate in their threat, before asking easily, "What's your name?"

The boy hesitated. "E-Eirik, my lord."

For a while, Loki said nothing. He crossed the remaining space between them, reaching past the boy and suppressing a smile when he felt the other flinch as he reached for the decanter of wine on the tray. "And are you afraid, Eirik?" he asked quietly, drawing back again.

"No," Eirik bit out defiantly. _Liar._

"Then you are but a fool like the rest," said Loki, his tone callous. He turned the wine stopper between his fingers. "I could kill you now, you know. And fear? Fear is essential—fear keeps you alive." He paused. _Now why had he said that? _

Eirik, wisely, kept quiet, and in the silence Loki felt his thoughts begin to drift again. The _taste_ of fear, oh, how well he knew it. He could not recall a time when its dryness did not sear at his throat. For a few days, perhaps, he would forget that it was there, but then, in the night, it would surge up again, spreading through him like poison, and he would curl and struggle silently against the painful closeness of his breath. There were times when he wondered if he would ever be free from it—and then, strangely, if he even wanted to be.

Thinking about it now did not help. Suddenly, irrationally worried that those thoughts might have showed on his face, Loki quelled his curiosity and shot Eirik a sharp, deadly look. His patience was gone.

"Get out."

Startlement flashed across the boy's face, as though he had actually, foolishly, expected a decent conversation to ensue instead of this cold command. He hesitated, opened his mouth, and then abruptly snapped it shut again and darted from the chamber. With more force than necessary, Loki kicked the door closed behind him. He was regretting not expelling the boy the moment he'd seen him; he would have saved himself what he was feeling now.

So often he acted as though he cared not what others thought of him. Sometimes, most of the time, it was true; their minds were petty, barely-used, and he could dismiss such stings with little more than a metaphorical brush of the hand. Thor he had to be careful around, of course, and Frigga excruciatingly so, but something else had happened here, just now, to give him pause. It was bad enough that he was stuck in these chambers again, the rooms of his youth, and to be further reminded, if only for a moment, of the person he once was, when he _had_ cared… It twisted something uncomfortably within him, and he definitely didn't like it. _Damn it all_, he thought savagely—would he never be free of these ghosts?

His hand came up, pulling at the neck of his tunic and almost unconsciously slipping beneath it, where he could feel the familiar contours of the scars near his shoulder. His momentary anger faded now to quiet, anxious speculation. This, at least, he might be in control of.

But oh, how carefully he would have to tread. He began pacing back and forth, trying to anticipate what the wisest course would be. It would take more than a vaguely-worded message to persuade _her_ to come to Asgard, even with Odin gone, and it would mean leaving the palace again for sure. But he could not trust the healers here with this, nor did he think their skills would be adequate for what he needed.

A few minutes later, Loki had made up his mind. He would send a raven if he could manage it (an Ӕsir messenger was laughable), and then, a visit to the Queen's chambers whilst Frigga was elsewhere. For once, something might be going right.

More at ease now that he had plotted a course of action, he poured himself a cup of wine from the tray that the boy had brought and strode out onto the balcony, where he sipped thoughtfully at his drink for a while. Adjusting to this freedom was more challenging than he'd expected, for his biggest obstacle, he was beginning to realise, was not his brother or Frigga, but himself. Simply _allowing_ himself return to this life was something he was not certain he could do.

Was he afraid? Perhaps. Perhaps it was not so simple as that. He had become gradually aware of an odd feeling within him—a sense of anxiety, as though he were waiting for something, and yet if that were true, someone had apparently forgotten to tell him what it was.

He let out a low breath, his fingers rubbing at the scars again. In only a few days, if all went well, they would no longer trouble him.


	9. IX Preparation

**Author's Note: **Sorry about the wait on this one, and thanks for being patient with me! I appreciate all the feedback I've gotten so far; it's been really fantastic.

* * *

_IX. Preparation_

More as a test of his own patience than anything, Loki did not act until the following day. He was keenly aware that Thor and his friends would be watching him, especially now that he had been caught once, and he wanted to make sure that he gave them no cause for further suspicion. It would not do to act rashly now; and so he waited, biding his time as he had been taught, watching and assessing and anticipating the perfect moment, because he would get only one shot at this.

He spent most of the day letting himself be seen in innocuous places about the palace—the inner gardens, the terrace near his room, an hour or two flipping lazily through books in the library. With a bit of luck, it would be enough to assuage the fears of watching eyes. By evening, he was more on edge than ever, but instead of letting it hinder him, he turned the anxiety in on itself, using it to hone and sharpen his senses.

There was a part of him that wondered, after hours of this, whether he might not be overthinking the matter. Loki was quick to shake this thought away. If anyone caught him sending a message at all, much less outside the city, he had no doubt that some very uncomfortable questions would arise, questions that he had absolutely no desire to answer. Better to exercise unnecessary caution now than to find himself up before Thor again later wishing that he had.

He slipped into the courtyard just after sunset, while most of those with the potential to inconvenience him were at their evening meal. He would not be missed; he had not joined them yet since his release, and did not plan to.

The messenger birds were housed in a separately walled corner of the courtyard. Loki skirted around the edge of the open area, hugging the shadows of the colonnade and keeping one wary eye on the pair of guards across the way, who were standing in a pool of torchlight, conversing quietly. When he reached the back wall, he set his foot against the stones and was soon pulling himself up and over, dropping down a second later into the enclosed area. Loki saw several glossy black heads swivel in his direction along the ravens' perches, and he quickly put a finger to his lips before they could call out. Silence remained.

The rustle of feathers followed him as he padded quietly over to one of the birds and lifted his forearm level with his chest. He waited patiently as the raven eyed him for a moment, its head tilted, and then hopped onto his curled first and stuck out one leg.

"Take this to Nauma," Loki breathed to the creature as he withdrew a tiny scroll capsule from beneath his tunic and fastened it to the proffered leg. "And when you bring your answer, you are to return to me alone, and only at night."

The raven swivelled its head again to look at him, and he knew it had understood. He pressed his lips together, stepped back, and raised his arm; and in a flurry of wings the bird had taken flight, its dark silhouette quickly fading into the gathering dusk. Loki did not stay to watch it, but turned on his heel and slipped back over the wall. He landed cat-like in the corner of the courtyard, casting an anxious glance about before straightening again.

His confidence bolstered by this success, Loki hurried back inside. He decided, on an impulse, that he would dare to sneak into Frigga's chambers tonight, while he still had time. Meals here were generally lengthy affairs even without a special occasion; he could count on a fair bit of time before the All-Mother retired.

Just in case, Loki knocked lightly on Frigga's door when he arrived, his breath quiet and his body tensed for flight. But after several very long seconds there was still no sound from within, and, with a wary glance down the hall on both sides, Loki eased the door open and slipped inside. The room was dark; Loki closed the door softly behind him before twisting his hand in front of his face, watching as flames sprang up in their holders along the walls. It was weak magic, elementary at best, and thankfully unhindered by the band around his wrist.

His goal was Frigga's study, or rather, the small chamber that lay beyond it. Loki crossed the room quickly and strode into the next, leaving the door ajar so that he might hear anyone approaching, however unlikely that was. He lit two more braziers along the wall, and then let his eyes drift, although he had told himself he wouldn't—he _wouldn't_ get distracted like this.

But he could hardly help it. This chamber was familiar, achingly so—how many long hours he had spent here, wedged between the dark, warm shelves that lined the rounded walls, or else staring, wide-eyed with fascination, at the golden, glowing facsimile of the entirety of Yggdrasil that could be conjured from the table, just there. Loki's hands clenched. This had been his haven, his sanctuary from the coarseness he saw in Asgardian life even as a child; and now, he thought bitterly, he was forced to come in secret—a thief in the night who had seen and said far too much.

_Sentiment_, he spat quietly in his mind, struggling to dismiss it. He couldn't afford this, not now. Clenching his jaw, he stepped forward and felt for the catch at the back of one of the shelves, and a moment later, he was able to slide the entire bookcase aside.

The small chamber beyond was not precisely dark; it was filled with strange shadows cast by myriad objects set on shelves along the walls, and the light creating them came not from torches but from a number of the objects themselves. Some were books, others made of glass or metal—boxes, vials, orbs. These were precious things, what Frigga kept here—items not necessarily of raw power, but of knowledge, and which Loki knew could be just as dangerous as those that lay in the Vault beneath the citadel.

He didn't need something powerful, though, Loki thought as he prowled along the shelves. Just something rare, unique, some sort of novelty that could come only from here…

He spent several minutes poking amongst Frigga's collection, his hands trailing delicately from one object to the next, occasionally lifting one from its shelf before setting it carefully down again. He'd half expected a layer of dust, as he had found in his own chamber, but everything was clean, or as clean as old relics could be. Frigga was in here more often than she let on, he mused, and briefly entertained a feeling of curiosity before pushing it from his mind.

There was a tome that eventually caught his eye. Though brittle and worn with age, the words within it were clear enough, and detailed a number of healing remedies that even Loki had never heard of before—gathered, he surmised after a few moments' perusal, from millennia of Ӕsir practise. His pulse quickening, he flipped quickly through the entire thing—but no. His wounds were beyond Asgardian magic, and even if he thought there was something worth trying, he did not have the power to attempt it now. He set the book aside.

It was only a few moments later when he found a case near his feet containing a far more valuable prize. It was shallow and wooden, but inlaid with a pearl-like substance that shimmered in the dim light. Loki set it on a small table, slid aside the catch with a nudge of one fingertip, and felt a slow smile spreading across his face when he saw what was inside.

_Perfect_. Nine orbs, gold, half the size of his palm, each with a band of runes encircling its width. Loki removed one delicately from its niche in the case.

It took a powerful enchantment to seal the entirety of a spell within a physical form, but that was exactly what this was—a spherical case with healing magic cupped safely inside it. Someone of Frigga's skill was needed to create such a thing, but Loki did not allow himself to wonder if her hand was in these particular objects. He glanced over the inscriptions, tucked three of the orbs beneath his tunic, and closed the case again, replacing it where it had lain.

It was lucky that he moved so quickly in returning to the study, for no sooner had he slid the bookcase back along the wall than he heard the outer door open, and footsteps—light, slow, _hers_—crossing the room towards him. Cursing silently, Loki whirled on the spot, but he knew already that there was nowhere for him to go.

He had spoken very little to Frigga in the past few weeks, though more than once she had sought him out, speaking gently and trying, he knew, to see through him. He had rebuffed her attempts with a harshness that he always regretted later. Now, he tried to gather himself mentally in the few seconds he had left, and by the time Frigga appeared in the doorway, his features had slid into inscrutability.

"I don't remember giving you permission to come here." Her voice was unexpectedly cool.

Loki did not even blink. "Since when did I ever ask permission?"

"Until such time as I decide otherwise, you have forfeited the privilege not to," she replied, raising her chin and holding his gaze. "What are you doing here?"

Loki had to resist the instinct to curl his fingers into his palms, knowing that she would notice, but it was difficult; her calm, detached rebuke was not what he had anticipated. Why was she acting like this? What did she expect from him?

"I merely thought I might find something to read," he said.

_No, too many words. _She would know he was lying.

But Frigga again defied his expectations; she did not call him out on it. "And did the library not suit your purposes well enough?" she asked, her voice soft and pointed. She stepped aside, and, taking the hint, Loki reluctantly moved past her into the main room. "You were there earlier."

Loki scowled. "Is there ever a time you are _not_ watching me?" he demanded acidly, turning to face her again.

"Just because I pity the creature you have become does not mean I trust you. Answer the question."

A sting almost of physical pain went through Loki at her words. It was not merely the rebuke; it was the coldness, the sharp command in her tone. Despite all that Loki knew he could say to hurt her, he had forgotten that she, too, knew him intimately, and could use that knowledge against him. The only difference was, she usually held back. _You were like that once, too_, whispered a soft voice in his head. He clenched his teeth.

"You know perfectly well that your collection has always held more interest," he answered her quietly, still trying to appear at ease, though he had the nasty feeling that he was not succeeding. "And you have, after all, given me precious little to do with my time."

"Neither of which excuses your intrusion," Frigga told him shortly.

The lines around Loki's mouth tightened. "Is it so wrong of me to seek ways of keeping tedium at arm's length?"

"It is wrong of you to assume my tolerance."

She was not smiling, not even a hint of it, and the warmth he was so used to seeing on her face was no longer there. Loki looked away. She was right; in the back of his mind, he _had_ thought she would be lenient with him. It seemed he had been too presumptuous.

"In that case," he said softly, matching her coldness this time, "I shall take my leave."

He turned his back on her, trying not to rush as he made for the door. His hand was already upon it when she called his name, and yet, as before, he found himself powerless to pretend he did not hear her. Inhaling softly, he turned.

"What?" he asked in a flat voice.

Frigga looked at him steadily, her hands clasped and resting with ease in front of her dark gown. "We _are_ trying to help you," she said quietly. "But when you fight us, when you conceal yourself in your own shadows, we can only do so much." For just a moment, her expression softened. "Remember that."


	10. X Knowledge-Seeking, Secret-Keeping

**Author's Note:** Updating early this week! Because I'm excited, and I can. I do not apologise for dragging out Loki's suffering and silence. Your reviews are always appreciated! :)

* * *

_X. Knowledge-Seeking, Secret-Keeping_

Loki had not forgotten the whispered conversation he had overheard on the night of the Veurr, but in light of more pressing concerns, he had pushed the matter to the back of his mind. Now, with several days' wait ahead of him before he could expect his raven to return, he decided that he might as well do a little investigation on his own. At worst, he would get on Thor's nerves, and at best… well, perhaps he would discover something he could use to his own advantage—and Loki had never been one to pass up that opportunity.

He took to lurking around the Einherjar barracks, keeping well out of sight at all times but using his other senses to filter through the information that passed by him. It was long, tedious work—taking in a casual conversation there, a muttered complaint elsewhere, and his legs soon became cramped from sitting in one place for too long—but he was patient, and it wasn't as if he had anything more important to do.

_Hreidarr_. That was the name he needed. He liked the taste of it, the way it whispered at the back of his throat. The name of a traitor.

Hreidarr, it turned out, was a remarkably well-respected captain of the palace guard. From his listening, and from a very productive search among some old records, Loki gleaned that he was older, a veteran of many conflicts including the war that had brought Jotunheim to its knees and several notorious battles against a Marauder commander who had fallen long before Loki was born. Either unable or unwilling to retire completely, he had retreated to a less hazardous post within the citadel, where he was known as the final authority in resolving disputes between the younger guards. The change had been recent, only within the last year or so, and that, at least, explained why Loki had not heard of him until now.

Loki leaned back in his deep chair in the library, tracing a finger thoughtfully over his lower lip as he continued to flip idly through the record-book. He had expected a different sort of man to be involved—someone lower, less principled, someone merely looking for gold and willing to dole out information for it. But no, instead he had found this Hreidarr, which meant there was something more at play here. There had to be a reason why this man, so utterly commendable in every outward respect, was willing to risk everything to pass on such sensitive information—to a people, no less, that by rights he should have no knowledge of.

Had so much changed in the time he had been gone? Somehow, Loki did not believe so. Asgard was notorious for remaining stagnant—_the Realm Eternal_, they called it. Change came uneasily here or not at all.

At least, he thought quietly, not without help.

He was still brooding over the matter when footsteps sounded around the corner, and he straightened just in time to see Thor appear at the end of the nearest shelf. Both brothers went still for the space of a heartbeat, but for once, Loki was not feeling terribly antagonistic.

"I didn't think you came here, normally," he remarked, careful to keep his tone mild and unthreatening—he could see that his brother was in great danger of turning around again on the spot, and he did not want that yet.

"I do not." Thor's voice was wary. "I was looking for Mother."

Loki arched a brow. "She was in the lower gardens, last I saw her. The east side, I think."

Thor blinked, looking surprised to have received such a civil answer, and he dithered a moment before inclining his head stiffly. "Thank you," he said, and started to turn.

"Wait a moment."

It annoyed Loki just slightly that he had to form the words in the tone of a request, but one had to make sacrifices in the pursuit of knowledge. He waited until Thor was facing him again before gesturing lightly and wordlessly towards a nearby chair.

A frown appeared between Thor's brows. "Why?"

"There's something I want to ask you." Loki made certain that his face betrayed nothing as he looked steadily back at his brother, but he remained inwardly tense, uncertain if Thor would comply. He had done very little to earn the other's trust up to this point.

Thor, of course, still looked incredibly suspicious; his jaw had tightened, and his hand was clenching ever so slightly at his side. "What is it?" he asked, darkly and without moving.

Loki let out a long, patient breath from between his teeth and resigned himself to a warier conversation than he would have liked. He leaned back in his seat, unhurriedly closing the record-book in front of him and shifting it aside, away from his brother. Then, his pale hands clasped in his lap, he lifted his chin a bit and asked, "What do you know about the Drey?"

It was immediately clear that whatever Thor had expected, it wasn't that; indeed, Loki had the distinct impression that his brother, at first, did not even know what he was referring to. The lines on the King's face deepened, and he gave Loki a bewildered look that, for a second, surpassed even his suspicion of the moments before. "The _Drey…_?"

Loki's lips thinned. "The Dreyrugar," he clarified, clearing his throat. "The Bl—"

"The Blood-stained," Thor finished for him suddenly, and the look he was giving Loki now was very strange—more contemplative than Loki was used to seeing on that face. He hesitated, then slowly took the previously offered chair and sank into it, resting his elbows on his knees. "That is a legend, Loki." There it was again, that quiet, assessing look. "And of such things you have always had more knowledge than I."

"Perhaps." Loki ran his hand along the edge of the table, spinning his words carefully in his head before voicing them. "I happened to come across a mention of them, and, well—" He shrugged lightly. "It's been a long time. I thought you might recall better."

He glanced up again only once, trying to judge Thor's expression from that brief glimpse, because oh, what a delicate line this was. He had to convince his brother that this was merely curiosity, harmless and stemming, perhaps, from long hours of monotony; it was too early yet to risk exposing what he was really after, especially when he hardly knew himself. But he suspected that he had the upper hand, because he _knew_ Thor, and knew that the chance for a conversation unexpectedly devoid of bitterness was far too tempting of a thing for his brother to pass up.

And he could _see_ the hesitation flickering across Thor's face, faint but definitely there, playing a silent tug-of-war between King and brother. Loki waited patiently, knowing that if he pressed, he would lose the advantage at once.

"I know little more than the old stories," Thor said at last. He seemed to have relaxed slightly, though his eyes remained on Loki. "They were part of Asgard, millennia ago, and were given their name only when they broke away from her." He shook his head. "If they did exist at one time, there is no record of them left."

_If? There is no _if_, brother, for the legends live yet, far beyond your sight. _

But though his thoughts were contemptuous, all Loki said aloud was, "So you don't believe it really happened."

Thor gave a rather disinterested shrug of one shoulder. "I know not. "

Loki was observant enough to notice the creeping edge of impatience in his brother's tone, and wise enough to heed it. "Nor do I," he said, also shrugging, "but I thought I would ask, for lack of a better source."

Thor gave him a sharper look. "Why the sudden interest in this?"

"The stories intrigue me," Loki returned calmly, his answer long since ready. "And since I have very little _else _to do, I may as well spend my time chasing obscure lore." There was a deftly-added note of irritation in his voice now, placed as a final layer to soothe any remaining suspicions that his brother might have.

"Yes, but to what end?" asked Thor slowly, his voice low. He had not taken his eyes from Loki's face, as though he actually thought he might be able to see past the mask. Worse, he was not taking the bait.

Loki twisted his lips in a thin, patronising semblance of a smile. "Must I always seek an end? There _is_ such thing as knowledge for knowledge's sake, Thor. Not that I would expect you to understand that."

"I don't know what you seek anymore." Thor suddenly rose, shaking his head and turning away. "I wonder if even you do."

The library air suddenly seemed very cold in its stillness. Loki's smile dropped.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

With a show of reluctance, Thor turned to look at him again. "It means that whatever lies you may be spinning now, I believe there is far more still that you have not said." His tone was steady, and Loki felt his chest suddenly tighten, as though a hand were pressing on his lungs. "I have thought back many times, Loki, to our first meeting on Midgard; to your words there to me. I do not know what you hoped to accomplish by what you did, but of this much I am certain now: you did not wish to rule Midgard. You were King of Asgard once. You would not settle for anything less."

As Thor spoke, Loki's features had gone rigid. How long had Thor been waiting to say this? This was too close, _far_ too close; he could not allow his brother to delve any deeper.

"How do you know what I would or would not do?" he hissed suddenly, leaning forward in his seat with all signs of civility gone. "You know me not, _brother_, as much as you would like to claim otherwise—"

"Exactly."

The sudden agreement caught Loki off-guard again, and his eyes narrowed. "Exactly _what_?" he demanded testily.

Thor breathed a heavy sigh. "You are right, brother—I do not know you anymore." He shook his head. "Even when we fought that first time, even when you deceived us, when you let go and we thought you dead… it was not until later, but I thought I understood why. But what you did on Midgard was _senseless_, Loki, and whatever you are, it is not that. It is as if some madness took you then."

Inwardly seething, Loki forced a low, harsh laugh. "Believe what you like, Odinson. I gave you my reasons; I am not to blame if they are beyond your comprehension."

But Thor merely shook his head again, looking weary now. "I wish I could trust you, Loki," he continued quietly, with a note of helplessness in his voice. "But even more would I have you trust me again, and Mother, as you once did."

Something uneasy twisted within Loki, and he quickly shoved the feeling aside again before it could rise any further. He wondered if Thor knew just how deep his words were striking.

"Trust?" he hissed aloud. Hostility was his defence now. "After what you did—_both of you_?" His tone scathing, he raised his hand and deliberately wrenched back his sleeve from his wrist. "After—"

"_What would you have me do?"_

Thor's voice was loud, cracked with frustration. It was several moments before the echoes of his words faded. There was desperation written on the King's face, in the lines that tensed along his forehead and around the tight, straight set of his mouth—and for the first time, Loki had the sudden, uncomfortable impression that he was not the only one poisoned and hurting because of the hand that Fate held dealt them.

"I did not ask for this, Loki!" Thor said forcefully, words tumbling from his lips as though something within him had been unstoppered. "I did not expect the throne any more than you did that first time, but I had no choice—and I can no longer think of myself only, you _know_ that. The safety of the Realms must come first." He took a step forward, and Loki braced his hand against the table, ready to get to his feet if need be. "I would seek reconciliation between us, Loki, and gladly, but how can I do so when you will give me nothing in return?"

Loki had not taken his eyes from his brother, and they were glimmering dangerously in his pale face. "And what is it you want from me?"

"_Answers_, brother!" said Thor desperately. "Better yet, some sign, however small, that the man I once knew is still in there."

"He's not."

His gaze going dark, Loki shoved his chair back and rose. He had meant to be asking the questions, not answering them, and already he had let his brother take this conversation too far in the other direction. Time to end it. "The one you seek is _gone_, Thor," he spat. "He fell into darkness an eternity ago, and was consumed by it."

A pained look flickered across Thor's face. "Loki..."

"Save your pity." Loki turned his back deliberately and strode away, flatly ignoring his own name that he heard called after him. If Thor wanted answers, he was doomed to disappointment. He would get none.


	11. XI Nauma

**Author's Note: **I have a lot of fun creating original characters that I hope compliment the story whilst remaining secondary to the main focus. I do hope they're enjoyed by you readers, as well!

I'm not entirely certain when the next update will be; I have things going on, and I have to do some pretty heavy editing and shifting of plotses, but we'll see. Thanks for bearing with me. :)

* * *

_XI. Nauma_

The raven returned the following night, earlier than Loki had expected, bearing with it the answer he had hardly dared hope for—Nauma would meet with him.

Loki read the message over twice before setting it to flame over a candle on his desk, and then he sat back again, pressing his steepled hands to his lips and considering carefully what he would say to her. It was not going to be easy. It would mean revealing much more than he was mentally prepared for, and though he knew it was necessary, the thought still made his insides twist.

Nauma was a strange creature—a strong, gnarled figure of impressive years and questionable scruples, and the bearer of a magic that was entirely her own. If Loki's abilities came from study, hers were innate, instinctive, drawn from the essence of Yggdrasil itself. Hers was a deep, untameable magic, one that could hurt and heal with equal force—and it was upon this power that Loki was now placing his reliance.

It was dangerous, of course. She swore allegiance to nothing and no one, as Odin had discovered long ago, but even he could not destroy her. It had been obvious, after that—and it was never clear precisely what had happened—that she was not welcome in the city. Loki had found her, though, in his exploration beyond the city walls in his youth, and he had been hungry for the knowledge that she could give him. She had seen he was different. In the end, Nauma had liked him, as much as she liked anyone.

At least, Loki thought, she had liked the boy he used to be.

He was to meet her in an old abandoned house on the very outskirts of the city, just within the walls. It was a place they had used once before, and though the years had blurred Loki's memory in places, he remembered it well enough. But it was a long ways, even by horse. He would have to risk an early start.

* * *

To his own surprise, Loki had little difficulty in escaping the citadel again. He was soon no more than a dark-cloaked figure mounted on an equally dark horse, riding quickly but not urgently through the streets as dusk fell.

The area near the house was deserted when he came to it nearly an hour later, and he dismounted quickly. He scanned both sides of the street again before raising his fist and knocking twice against the door. It opened a crack, an eye gleaming within, and Loki pulled his hood back in silence. As the door swung wider, he saw Nauma eyeing him flatly.

"I have taken a great risk in coming here for you, Loki."

"I know," he replied quickly. He ducked under the arch of the house without invitation, which earned him an admonishing mutter. "But I've been confined to the city by the command of the King, and he is—"

"He is your brother," she finished, cutting him off with no apparent effort. "It never stopped you in the past."

"He's not." Loki glanced over his shoulder. "Things have changed."

"Oh, yes, that I can see."

The house had not been occupied in some time, and its surfaces were softened by a layer of dust. Nauma kept up an irritable stream of muttering as she spun a lamp into the air, and then took a cloth and began brushing off the surface of a low table that sat in the middle of the room. Loki shrugged off his cloak, then rested his back against the wall and watched her in silence, knowing that she would speak to him again when she found it convenient, and not before. She did not seem to have changed; though her face and hands were as lined and calloused as he remembered, and her thick hair streaked with silver, she still moved with the vigour of a woman half her age. Not that anyone knew what that was, and Loki had learned long ago that it was unwise to press his curiosity on the matter.

Nauma looked up. "You look older," she said flatly, as though she knew exactly what had been passing through his mind moments before. "And it is not the passing of time that has done it."

Loki pressed his lips together but did not answer, uncertain if there was one to give. Nauma gave him a long, appraising look, and then abruptly pointed toward the table.

"Sit," she ordered sharply. "Sit, and tell me why you would have me risk my freedom for you."

Sensing the rebuke again, Loki dipped his head as he crossed the room and perched himself on the edge of the table. "I'm not ungrateful," he assured her quietly. His fingers curled automatically along the table rim.

"You had best be more than grateful if you expect my help." Her voice was curt, and her brows arched expectantly. "What have you brought me, Loki?"

Loki had prepared for this. He reached beneath his tunic and withdrew the three gold orbs, opening his palm to display them. "These came from the Queen's archives. Each contains a healing and protective spell—against injury, against poison, and against infection." He flicked each one into the air before him as he named it, until the three were hovering at eye level between himself and the old healer.

"Even now your insolence astounds me," Nauma murmured, but despite the words, her tone was mild, and Loki could tell that she was eyeing his gifts with interest.

"Does it?" he asked blandly.

"You would thieve from the very chambers of the All-Mother?"

Loki's jaw tightened ever so slightly. "I do what I must. If you don't care for them—"

"And you are deaf as well if you mistook that for a refusal." Nauma reached up, snatching the orbs from the air with an odd gleam of triumph. Loki almost expected a cackle, but instead, she merely tucked the spheres away and raised her chin, eyeing him with a sharp calculation.

"Now, Loki. Why have you summoned me here, to a city that would have my life in a sparrow's heartbeat?"

He hesitated, running his tongue over his bottom lip as he thought how best to phrase it. There was no easy way. "I was… hurt," he replied slowly, in a forced monotone, "over a period of time, about two years ago. And—it seems that even my powers have failed me. The wounds will not heal."

Nauma flipped one finger in a curt, demanding gesture. "Show me."

But Loki remained still, his eyes averted and his features slowly tightening. He had come here solely for this purpose, because he dared not go to Asgard's healers, and yet now that the moment had come he found himself suddenly reluctant to follow through. The scars of his exile held so much in their memory—far too much.

Nauma, of course, did not miss his hesitation, and by her expression, she was less than pleased. "Have you grown so arrogant in so short a time?" she demanded acidly. "That you have the audacity to summon me here and then change your mind?"

"You know not what I have endured!" Loki hissed back, his eyes darkening. "You have so little idea—"

"So be it!" She stepped brusquely away from him. "Loki does not desire my help? Then I have no desire to give it. Take your leave." And she indicated the door with a final jerk of her sharp chin.

Anger sparked in Loki's mind, but it did not last. He could not let it; he needed her, if only to do what he could not. Slowly, he unclenched his fingers from the table edge and dropped his head slightly, hoping that she would appreciate the gesture in its respect.

"Forgive me," he said, very quietly. "I have spoken of this to no one, and it is—more difficult than I anticipated."

He glanced up at her again as he finished, watching her out of the corner of her eye, and he saw in a moment that his words had borne fruit; there was curiosity in her face now, rapidly replacing the irritation. She could not help wanting to know his story, and even more, Loki knew that she liked being the only one to know it. He breathed a little easier.

Nauma was eyeing him still. "Show me," she repeated, "or I can do nothing."

With a low breath, Loki nodded his consent, and reached up to loosen the lacing at the neck of his tunic. He could feel her steely eyes upon him as he pulled the garment over his head and let it drop onto the table to his left. When he straightened, he met her gaze with an air of mingled apprehension and defiance.

Silence followed, but Nauma was quick to break it with a crisply ordered "Come here." She pointed to a place on the floor directly in front of her, and Loki, trying to suppress an anxiety he had still not quite been prepared for, slid from the table and walked to the place she had indicated. The night air shifted with a chill over his skin, but he hardly noticed; he was too intent on maintaining a frame of mind that would not betray him. He stared straight ahead with his jaw clenched as Nauma began to circle him. She was murmuring almost inaudibly under her breath, and only spoke more loudly when she had returned to face him directly.

"Do they pain you?"

Loki shook his head. "No. They have not for some time."

She made a noncommittal sort of noise, and then with a speed he had not expected, came forward and pressed her hand to his chest. Loki let out a faintly panicked hiss, and it was all he could do to stop himself from forcing her away. He flinched, all the same, and she shot him a very knowing look.

"If they do not pain you—"

"Not—physically." Loki's breath was coming short now.

"And among all the spells and salves of the All-Mother, you could find not one that would heal them?" Nauma lightened her touch, but still her claw-like fingers traced over the burns as though in fascination. Loki's hands curled at his sides.

"No," he conceded softly, "nothing." It was only half a lie. He glanced at her sidelong, without lowering his head, but the heavy lines of her face were difficult to decipher. He forced himself to ask the question he had been avoiding from the beginning. "Can you heal them?"

But though his disquiet was growing, but he did not receive his answer for some time. Nauma continued to look him up and down, her hand resting here or there along the scarring, and she seemed to hold very little concern for his mental state during the process. But after a while, he saw her frown begin to deepen, and her touch on his skin became more considered. "These are powerful marks indeed," she muttered, sounding both admiring and irritated. "But their nature is strange to me." Loki could hear the implicit question in her tone, but he did not oblige, and so she continued after a moment, "Fire could not have done such work." And here her eyes lifted to hold his. "These were made with deliberation."

Again Loki did not respond, but the aversion of his gaze was answer enough.

"So." Nauma stepped back and surveyed him with her bright eyes. "You have made me curious, very curious indeed. And there is someone out there who knows you very, _very_ well."

Loki clenched his teeth. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, they chose their method of persuasion accordingly." Nauma pointed a finger at his chest. "I know your nature—your _true_ nature. Someone has gotten to your head, Loki, and I do wonder—"

"_Can you heal them_?" Loki repeated savagely, cutting her off.

She arched both brows. "No."

Loki turned his back on her, quelling a soft sound of frustration in his throat. He realised now that he had been depending on this more than he'd thought.

"There is a peculiar energy to your scars, Loki," Nauma went on, and he could feel her watching him as he pulled on his tunic again. "I think only the one who placed them there would have the knowledge to remove them."

"He will never make that offer," Loki retorted bitterly, throwing the words over his shoulder without thinking.

"Who is he?"

Loki whirled on her, his glance dark with warning. "It matters not," he hissed.

"Not to me, but to you, oh yes, Loki, I think it does."

Ignoring this, Loki reached for his cloak. "You will speak of this to no one," he told her, bringing command to his voice again, soft and ominous, as he turned around. "Breathe one word of this, just one, and I will kill you myself."

Nauma's eyes hardened, and she did not flinch from him. "You would threaten one who taught you? I, who gave you sanctuary as a mere child when you were foolish enough to wander the mountains alone?"

Loki shook the memories away almost before they appeared to him and fixed her with a cold, deadly look. "If you remember nothing else from our words today," he hissed, "remember this: I have no loyalties anymore. I have paid my debts a hundred times over in the Void and the Dark, and I owe you _nothing_."

She smiled then, a slow, strange smile that did nothing to soothe him. "If that is what you choose to believe."

Loki said nothing. His features rigid, he drew his hood over his head, taking refuge in its shadow from the intensity of her gaze—but he could not block out the words that followed him, flat and cold, out into the night:

"Someday, Loki, your eyes will be opened and your lips unsealed—and on that day, _O_ _prince_, on that day I will not envy you."


	12. XII Nightfall

**Author's Note: **Probably the most painful chapter to write so far... but enjoy!

[Also, I'm curious-what sort of events or ideas might you guys like to see as the story progresses? I won't guarantee anything, but I'm interested. :) ]

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_XII. Nightfall_

All the next day, Loki found himself brooding over Nauma's words. He felt unusually on-edge, even by his standards, and no matter how he sought to distance his mind from it, he could not seem to shake the feeling.

Worse, the disappointment of her judgement still rankled within him. He had managed to convince himself, somehow, that to heal the physical scars was to seek relief for all the rest, for everything that threatened him in his unguarded moments, and the realisation that such healing was not even possible seared deeply. Was this to be his curse?

Desperate for a distraction, Loki spent several hours that day shadowing the guards again. A plan was beginning to form in his mind, a way for him to discover where the noble Hreidarr's loyalities _really_ lay. It had occurred to him that the boy who had so foolishly invaded his chambers might yet prove to be of use, if he played his hand carefully enough. It would be, he thought, a matter of persuasion—the burying of a seed of truth in the midst of some delicately-constructed lies.

Unfortunately, all thought of pursuing the matter was driven from his mind soon after.

He awoke that night to the sound of his own screaming.

He didn't know if he was conscious, still sleeping, or somewhere in between; all he knew was that he was suffocating with fear, _drowning_ in it, and he had lost the ability to defend against it—the power had been torn from him—

_Leave me!_ he commanded. He would make them obey. _Leave me—_

They would not listen.

_Help me—_

No one was coming.

_End it…_

But there was work to be done yet.

—and he was screaming again, burning with something hot like the stars and blinded even through his closed eyes, as though their light were being forced against his vision, and they knew, they _knew_—

He felt their hands upon him, rough and practised, pulling him up when he could not stand and forcing him down again when he made to defy them by trying; he was grey and dry, a husk of someone he'd forgotten, and still their hold on him tightened—

He tried to pull away, gasping with desperation for even one breath that would feel like breathing, but he was weak, and they were strong, and _you were always the weaker one, the coward, the unwanted_…

It was dark again, but this was not relief.

_You are weak. You are nothing. They cast you out into the darkness as they would drown a pup too small to survive…_

_No, no, it didn't happen like that—_

Hands tightened on his shoulders, at his neck, and he cried out again in fear.

"Loki—"

_Loki Laufeyson. Son of Laufey. _

"Loki!"

_Son of No One. King of Nothing. _

"Brother, it's me—"

_Thor. _

The haze began to clear from Loki's mind and vision, and he was suddenly aware that it was his brother's hands clamped firmly over his shoulder and at the back of his neck—still rough, but not harsh, and a shuddering gasp fell from his lips. "You came—"

A pained, confused look rippled over Thor's face. "I meant to check on you—I heard you. Brother—"

"Get me out." Loki's eyes were riveted on his brother's, and he could feel himself shaking violently beneath Thor's grip. His voice was hoarse from use and low with apprehension. "Please—please, you have to help me—"

He could not remember when he had been reduced to begging.

But though Thor frowned, he did not answer quickly enough, and panic seized Loki again in its clutches. How could Thor simply _sit_ there? They would be coming—they would take them both this time, and there would be nothing, no escape, _nothing_—

Fear flooded his mind again, and he suddenly tore himself away from his brother, only to find that he could not, that Thor's hold on him was too firm; and without warning he found himself thinking that he had been wrong, and they had been right, and Thor was not here to save him, after all, _because he cast you from his kingdom and why should he wish to save you now? _

"Then don't—just don't—"

"Loki, it's alright, it's me—"

Still he could not wrench himself away, though it was not for lack of trying, and a constricted sound welled in his throat.

"Don't—don't—"

Thor caught him by the jaw, forcing his head around.

"Loki, _stop this_."

The command did what the reassurances could not. Loki felt the shadows crumble for real this time. White-faced and shaking, he went utterly still as the contours of his chamber emerged from the darkness. For just a moment, he was acutely aware of everything—the sheets twisted about his limbs, the cooling sweat trickling down his neck and between his shoulderblades under his shirt, and his brother's hands—one at his shoulder, the other still firm around his jaw. His breath shivered in the too-quiet air.

Slowly, Thor lowered his hand. There was a strange fear in _his_ eyes, too, though at the moment Loki could not think why it should be so. "Loki..."

But nausea rose up in Loki's throat, choking him, and he pulled back with a savage wrench of his shoulders. Retching hoarsely, he curled over the side of the bed, though nothing came out. He felt Thor's hand rest tentatively on his back, but even when he quieted a few moments later, he did not look up.

He could tell, as the silence lengthened, that his brother did not know what to say. He had no idea how to begin a conversation he hadn't even realised needed to happen, and Loki, for his part, was also at a loss, still struggling to return to himself.

It wasn't supposed to go like this.

He was supposed to be in control, master of himself if not others, and yet in a few short minutes he feared that he had suddenly revealed everything he had taken so many pains to hide. He found himself fumbling for his walls, his meagre defences, but already it was far too late.

He was exposed. Vulnerable.

_Weak._

The thought nearly sent him over the edge of panic again. Behind him, Thor drew a low breath, and Loki suddenly needed to cut him off before he heard what his brother meant to say.

"Don't," he hissed viciously, though his head remained bowed, his damp, tangled hair shadowing his face. "Don't. Say. _Anything_."

Thor's hand settled more firmly on his back. "Is that what you wish? My silence so that you may keep yours?"

_Yes. Please._

"No, brother," Thor went on softly. "Not this time."

Loki shut his eyes tightly, trying to force down the taste of bile in his throat. He raised one shaking hand to his face as though he might be able to pull the emotion there into his fingertips, leaving his mask steadily in place. It did not work.

"I'm fine," he gritted out, trying desperately to force some measure of authority into his voice. His head was beginning to spin.

"You're not. You never were."

Loki clenched his teeth. "I don't want to talk about this, Thor."

He couldn't seem to breathe properly—why couldn't he?

"That I know already," said Thor quietly. He shifted, and the bed sank a little under his weight as he sat down. "But you must."

Something about the words seared deeply, and Loki suddenly raised his head. His eyes were reddened and now flashing, his mood dangerously volatile. How _dare_ Thor presume to know what this meant… "_Must_?" he repeated, his voice growing loud and harsh despite that fact that it was shaking audibly. "Under whose authority, Odinson? _Yours_? Is this the command of a king?"

He watched in satisfaction as something behind Thor's eyes flinched, but the triumph was short-lived; his brother remained unwavering.

"No," Thor replied. "Not a king." He swallowed, seeming to hesitate for just a moment before his resolve stiffened. "A brother."

Loki paused, and then he suddenly gave a harsh laugh, astonished for a moment that he even could. "_Oh_," he said, his lips parting for a moment in a hard, disbelieving smile, "this is _family._"

Still Thor did not look away. "Let me help you," he said quietly.

"Oh, please," Loki returned, his mouth twisting bitterly and his breath still coming fast, "don't tell me you suddenly _care_. You don't. We both know it." It was truth. It had to be. So why did it taste like a lie on his tongue?

"You're wrong," came his brother's voice again.

Loki made a contemptuous sound and turned away, determined not to let Thor see his willpower cracking. He could feel tremors still running through his body, aftereffects of the nightmare, and it was only when Thor's hand shifted on his back that he realised his brother could feel them, too. "Get out," he spat, jerking roughly away.

"No."

"I said—"

"What happened to you?"

Thor's words were low and earnest, desperate for answers, and Loki faltered again. He had pressed his hands to his head before he could stop himself. "Nothing that need concern you," he forced out, but the words were halting and broken.

_"__Concern_?" Thor repeated in an incredulous whisper. "Loki, this has gone beyond _concern_; you walk in the company of nightmares and yet refuse to admit to it even when it is as plain as day—_why_ will you not tell me the reason?" He moved closer, reaching out a hand again, but Loki drew back with a sharp breath against the headboard, huddling out of reach. "Loki—"

"I will not speak of it!" Loki spat suddenly, and he was immediately, painfully, startled by the insistence of his own voice. He saw Thor's eyes widen in confusion, but it didn't matter; he would not give in, he would not _yield_, not to his brother and not to them…

But as suddenly as his anger came, it was gone again, and in the wake of its departure he realised that his defences had been taken with it. He met Thor's eyes again. For just a moment, the walls behind his own dissolved, leaving his face bloodless and afraid and so terribly vulnerable before his brother's uncertain gaze. He swallowed, and then his lips parted in a dry whisper.

"I can't."

Thor stared at him, his brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

Closing his eyes, Loki gave a bare shake of his head. "No," he breathed, "no, you wouldn't."

There was a pause, and then he abruptly pushed himself up, shoving the sheets aside and making his way unsteadily across the room and onto the balcony. The stone was cold against his feet, and the air bit and stung at him, but he welcomed it, drawing long, shivering breaths into his lungs with his eyes shut and his head tilted back towards the sky. For the first time since he'd woken, the fear of suffocation eased slightly.

It was a few seconds longer than he expected before he sensed Thor coming up behind him, and, without bothering to conceal what he was doing, he moved pointedly away. He watched his own hands as they clutched, pale, trembling, over the rail of the balcony. Everything seemed very cold and quiet now.

That, of course, could hardly last.

"Loki," he heard his brother start again, "listen to me—"

But Loki whirled around, and the hiss of his breath was like a knife cutting through the chilled air. "No," he spat, his eyes still wider than they should have been as they locked onto Thor's, "no, _brother_, for once in your life, you listen to _me!_"

That got the King's attention, but Loki was too tense to take any satisfaction from it. His teeth were bared slightly, his breath coming short and fast.

"You desire trust, Odinson? Then you must _earn_ it—and quite frankly, you haven't much of a chance anymore. You cast me out, bring me back in chains, release me only when you see fit, and then shackle my powers as you might break in your newest house-pet—and still you want my _trust_?"

Thor stiffened, and Loki again felt a flicker of triumph despite his fear, for he knew, in this, that he was right. These few moments of respite had done him good; it was coming back to him again, the old power, the _words_; he both shielded himself with them and threw them back in the face of his brother, and even in anger they were dark and precise, honed by nights too long in the company of no one but his own shadow.

"Loki," Thor said again, as though by speaking the name he might be granted some greater knowledge or insight, "Loki, you know why we had to."

Loki made a low sound halfway between amusement and scorn. "Because you do not trust me," he finished flatly.

"Yes. Is that truly so surprising? You have given us no reason t—"

"And yet," Loki interrupted, feigning delicate incredulity and seizing on his own voice to distract himself, "you have done no better." His lips parted in a faint and rather feral smile. "Forgive me for not being impressed."

Thor's glance darkened. "You led an army of invaders over Midgard—you nearly _destroyed_ the whole of Jotunheim—"

"And you think I want to watch Asgard burn, as well—is that it?"

"Do you not?"

_Oh, how little you know._

His smile vanishing, Loki took a step forward, and when he spoke, his voice was low and cold, and filled with loathing. "I would see you and your rule crumble in a heartbeat," he hissed, "crumble until I could take the ashes in my hand and scatter them into the darkness that you once banished me to." He saw his brother's expression twist. "But for all that," he went on, the words suddenly soft now, "you're wrong." He stepped back again. "I would not see Asgard destroyed."

To his credit, Thor managed to keep a level tone when he asked, "And why is that?"

Loki raised his chin but did not answer. His very silence was filled with defiance.

Thor stared at him, but he was waiting for something that would not come. He seemed to realise it, eventually, for after several moments he huffed a grim, exasperated breath and looked away. "I know you left the citadel last night," he said.

Loki tensed again. Had he been followed? Surely he would have noticed—he had not been careless… "So why didn't you stop me?" he asked darkly.

"Brother, I have known from the beginning that you would not listen to me. I confined you to the palace because I knew you would disobey and seek your solitude beyond it. If I had attempted to keep you within the entire city, you would have passed the walls simply to prove that you could." Thor let out a low sigh. "I was trying to protect you."

"I don't _need_—"

"You're lying."

Loki fell silent as his eyes widened. _How did he know? _

The silence lengthened again, as though Thor expected another retort, but Loki refused to give him that satisfaction. Thor paused, then passed a weary hand over his forehead. "You are impossible as ever, Loki," he muttered, shaking his head.

Loki swallowed against the tightness in his throat. "Does that really surprise you?"

"Yes." Thor turned back, and there was an odd frown on his face, one that made him look younger rather than older. "Yes, it does. It surprises me that you are so calm. It surprises me that only a few moments ago you were crying for my help, and now you stand here as though you feel nothing." He held Loki's gaze, to the point where Loki was hard-pressed not to look away, and that was no easy feat for anyone. "And it makes me wonder," Thor went on quietly, steadily, "how many occurrences of this it has taken you to be able to do that."

With a low, angry hiss of breath, Loki turned away. "Leave me alone. I have nothing more to say to you."

Thor sighed. "You must speak sometime, brother."

"No." Still Loki did not turn, for he had closed his eyes tightly in an effort to conceal the chaos he felt writhing within him. "No, I mustn't."

But he had the uneasy feeling that, in his silence, he might have already sown the seeds of his own undoing.


	13. XIII Solitude and Sanctuary

**Author's Note: **Wow, the response to the last chapter was really incredible. Thank you all so much! I'm, ah, glad you're enjoying Loki's pain as much as I am. :P

* * *

_XIII. Solitude and Sanctuary_

Over the next few days, Loki avoided his brother as much as he possibly could. He had no desire to entangle himself in another confrontation, certainly not one where he, for once, bore most of the disadvantage. He would not underestimate his brother's stubbornness this time; he knew Thor would be looking for him.

He tried, for a while, to distance his mind from it, to focus instead on gathering more information about the Drey and their presence within the city, but he found that his initial intrigue had quite suddenly become dry and stale, and that his plans fell to pieces almost before he thought of them. He could not concentrate, not when he felt dread gathering in his mind each day the closer the hour drew to darkness. Try as he might, his willpower seemed to fail here; and as strong as his mental defences were, they were curiously ineffective in warding away the shadows of his past.

He had hoped the nightmare was only one. A child's hope, he realised now. It was as though his meeting with Nauma had opened the floodgates of his self-control, drowning the tiny spark of hope he'd had that moving on was actually an option. With her refusal, a quiet despair had set in, and the beginnings of a conviction that escape from this was futile at best.

He had been a fool to think he could hide.

The dreams continued, some nights worse than others, but always vivid enough that he awoke momentarily blinded by them and reaching for something, anything, that would remind him of where he really was. One night, his mind even coiled so deep into itself that when he came to, he expected all of it to be no more than a nightmare—Laufey, Midgard, everything—and that within moments his mother would enter softly to remind him that he had left her study untidy again. An apology was halfway to his lips before he realised he was staring at a closed door.

So far, Thor had seen him at the worst of it—and that made Loki even more furious, at his brother and at himself for letting it happen. He had taken so many pains to keep this concealed, and for what? Thor already suspected more than he ought. It was just another reminder of how his brother had grown—how he had _bettered_ himself, Loki thought bitterly—and how, even after all that distanced the two of them, he still knew Loki far too well.

Stubbornly (and perhaps idiotically), Loki forced himself to endure the dreams for nearly a week after they started, hoping against hope that sheer willpower might prevail to subdue them again. It did not, and there came a time when even his desperation crumbled. He needed to stop this; he was beginning to feel that he would go mad if he could not, and madness was not something he ever wished to return to.

When he awoke one night, shuddering and gasping for breath, he did not curl into himself as he had taken to doing. Instead, he fumbled to pull the sheets back from his body, got to his feet, and pulled on a robe with pale, shaking hands. Then he hurried from his chambers, and, except for the occasional hitch of his breath in his throat, he was soon moving in forced silence through the darkened halls.

He was still breathing harshly by the time he arrived at Frigga's chambers, and too shaken to close the door softly once he had edged inside; it swung shut with a heavy thud, and it was only moments before Frigga herself appeared from her bedchamber, her eyes wide.

"Loki," she breathed, staring at him and seemingly rooted in place by astonishment.

The room was dark, lit only by faint starlight coming in from the tall windows, and Frigga's form kept wavering in and out of shadow. Loki attempted to raise his eyes, but found that he could not, and he shrank against the door with his glance downcast and his hands closed into fists at his sides. Part of him still wished he hadn't come here, yet another part was suddenly awash with relief that it was too late to change his mind now.

"You're troubled." Frigga crossed swiftly over to him, her hand outstretched in comfort, but she drew it back against her chest before she could touch him. It took Loki a moment to understand why, and he suddenly felt his throat constrict. She was trying to act as _he_ wanted. Yet in lying to her, he had lied to himself, and denied himself the very thing he needed right now—her reassurance.

"Troubled," he repeated in a low, hoarse whisper, only half meeting her gaze. "Is that all?" A humourless smile tried to force its way across his lips, with little success.

Frigga let out a long, quiet sigh without taking her eyes from his face. "Tell me," she said softly, "tell me, Loki, please."

Her voice was low and warm and more pleading than he had expected, but still he was fighting himself, trying both to give in and not. Finally, he managed to force out in a low voice, "You know about dreams. What they mean. How to—" He drew a soft, tight breath. "—how to stop them."

If she was surprised at his words, she did not show it. "That depends on their nature," she answered quietly. "Some visions, for any number of reasons, cannot be prevented. If they are warnings, for instance—"

"They are not," Loki cut her off viciously. "They are—"

"—memories," his mother finished softly.

Loki raised his head very suddenly, staring at her in silence. How long had she known? Or was it really so obvious in just these few moments how his mind was tormenting him?

With a soft, sad smile, Frigga held out her hand to him, and though he looked at it for several seconds with something close to fear, he finally laid his own in hers. "Come sit," she said gently, and drew him over to the low couch in the middle of the room. It was lighter here, and Loki could see the sheen of her robe as she sat down. Feeling suddenly weak, he dropped onto the edge of the couch beside her and pressed his head into his hands.

"Your brother came to me," Frigga went on after a moment, and Loki could feel her eyes upon him as she spoke. "About a week ago. He told me what happened."

Anger seared briefly in Loki's chest. He should have known better than to think Thor would keep quiet about what he had witnessed.

"Of course he did," he spat bitterly. "Naturally, he couldn't keep his mouth _shut_—"

"He was _worried_," Frigga broke in, a note of gentle rebuke in her tone. "As am I." Her voice softened. "Why did you not come to me? In your own stubbornness you suffer needlessly—"

"_Needlessly_?" Loki hissed, cutting her off and raising his head very suddenly. His eyes were dark. "Since when has my suffering ever been considered needless? Have I not deserved all that has befallen me? Thor seems to think so—certainly he never tires of reminding me of it. So _very_ like his father."

Frigga's gaze, however, was troubled. "Like all actions, yours came with consequences," she said softly. "But we both know that is not what this is about."

With an unsteady breath, Loki looked away again, instead focussing on the way the dim light caught the hem of his mother's robe. "I just want to know how to stop them," he whispered.

"And you did not come to me sooner because…?"

"That matters not."

"It does to me."

Frigga sounded almost hurt as she said it, and, a second later, Loki felt her lay a hand on his arm. Her touch was hesitant, as though she were afraid he would shatter beneath it.

Loki wasn't certain that he would not.

He kept quite still, and found himself swallowing hard against the tightness of his throat. "Because I knew you would ask me to speak of what I have seen," he answered finally, his voice low and unsteady, "and I—" He closed his eyes again. "I cannot."

Frigga's hand shifted on his arm. "And yet it may be the only way you will find relief."

"No—no, there has to be something—" Loki could feel himself quickly becoming agitated again under his mother's scrutiny, however gentle.

"Loki, all I ask—"

"_I can't!_"

He was shouting without realising it at first, but he was well aware of wrenching away from her, of staggering to his feet as fear and rage combined surged through him again. "I can't tell you—or Thor—I can't tell anyone," he spat, nearly tripping over the words, the ones he had been holding back for so long, "because you have _no_ idea—you cast me out, but I was found, and caught, and I burned for an _eternity_ before I lived again—"

But he broke off abruptly, his face paling and his eyes very wide in the darkness.

He had lost control.

Frigga had not moved at all, her eyes fixed steadily upon him. Her features were curiously calm. Loki turned away, and in a moment he had bitten down so hard on his lip that it bled.

For a long while, the only sound was the trembling hiss of his breath as he fought to control himself, as though by finding mastery quickly enough he might take back the words—ensnare them again and return them to a place where only he could hear them. But he couldn't; he was grasping for wisps of shadow, elusive, mocking him from a distance, and there was nothing he could do but stand here and wait.

His mother's silence was agonising, but, finally, he heard her draw breath. The words were not what he expected, however.

"Come here," she said.

And in that moment he felt a new fear—a quiet, pleading, desperate one—and he had to close his eyes as he turned to her, because to open them was to reveal himself in full. Blind and shaking, he let instinct guide him to her; he felt her hands close over his own, heard the shift of her robe as she rose, and then she had taken him into her arms where he could not run any longer.

He was tense at first, his spine rigid and his hands curling at his sides with nothing to grasp. But the tremors were worse the more he stiffened, and so, without daring to open his eyes again, he slowly relaxed in Frigga's embrace. After a moment, he even ventured to bring his hands up until they laid, with fearful delicacy, against her back, and until he felt her robe gathering in tiny folds around his fingertips.

He was not weeping. He had half-expected that he would be, if this moment ever came, but he couldn't seem to delve deep enough to find the need. It was strange; he had not felt tears in his eyes since Midgard, not since he had faced his brother on Stark's tower and fumbled for the knife in his sleeve, and then, thinking that he was proving something, driven it deep between Thor's ribs.

As though sensing his thoughts, Frigga's hand came to rest against the back of his head, and he felt her combing gently through his hair that was still tangled from sleep. "Oh, my son," she breathed sadly, "what have they done to you, that you fear even me?"

Loki clenched his jaw. "I do not fear you," he whispered. How could she think that?

"Then show me you speak true." His mother pulled back, and though Loki instinctively turned his head to the side, she laid her hand against his cheek and turned him to face her again. "Look at me, Loki."

Loki opened his eyes.

He was looking straight at her, and he saw her gaze find him, then go _through_ him as though his defences had never even existed; and without warning he felt the terror and the helplessness and the despair rising raw and open behind his eyes. Something close to loathing filled him, and in but a moment he had ripped his gaze from hers with a low, shuddering breath.

_I can't. _

He would have run—he wanted to—but almost before the thought had crossed his mind he felt Frigga take hold of his arm, keeping him there. Averting his gaze further, he forced out softly, "Please do not ask me again." His voice shook. "I only wish to stop the dreams."

"Only you can do that," Frigga said softly, and Loki felt his throat constrict. "If it is indeed your memories that are causing them, it is because those recollections have nowhere else to go."

A sudden feeling of hopelessness threatened to wash over Loki, and he shut his eyes more tightly, struggling to think of an answer, of a _way_—did he not always used to have a solution? His tongue had been his weapon, his wit his guide and defence, and always they had served him well. And yet, now, he could summon neither. He could not spend nights uncounted huddled in fear, and yet to speak—to speak was impossible. But there was a way out. There had to be. So why could he not think of it?

"Loki." Frigga's voice came soft and warm again, and this time, strangely hesitant. "I will not ask you to speak of what you cannot." He heard her draw a long breath. "But if you could _show_ me—would you?"

_Show? _He turned quickly to look at her, confusion flickering through his already chaotic thoughts. "I don't understand," he whispered.

"Your memories are buried deep," she replied gently, "deeper than I think even you know. But there is a way to bring them to light—to give them physical form—and if you will trust me, Loki…" She took his hand, watching him with her warm eyes. "I _can_ teach it to you."

Loki stared at her for several long seconds before a sudden, bitter smile turned the corners of his lips. "You've shackled my powers, remember?" he reminded her softly. "Anything you show me will little more than a mockery—"

"No," she broke in, shaking her head, "it will not." Her hand tightened fractionally over his, and she met his eyes seriously. "As long as you are within these chambers, I will remove the band."

Loki stiffened, his breath catching, and his fingers went automatically to the silver cuff beneath his sleeve. Small concession though it was, he had never dared think either Frigga or Thor would make so tempting an offer. "Why?" he breathed, his eyes narrowing.

She smiled at him, rather sadly. "Because you once sought sanctuary here, and I would give you that chance again—and perhaps, in time, my trust. But it is up to you whether you choose to take it."

_Ah_. So it was a test.

"And this—technique," he whispered, searching her face, "what is it?"

She let out a long, slow sigh. "It is a way for you to give release to your memories without speaking directly of them. They can be conjured from your thoughts, much like the illusions I once taught you. But," she added softly, "it is much more difficult."

For a long while, Loki remained silent, his eyes downcast in thought. He was calmer now; the knowledge that there was _something_ to help him had seeped slowly through his mind like a balm, soothing some of his anxiety. He was so tired of living in fear. It drained him, and more than that, he knew, it was changing him, turning him in on himself until the worst battles were not against his brother but against the shadows that had been born in the isolation of the Void. If there was a way to free himself from them…

But there would be a price. There always was.

Loki raised his eyes again. "What would you have me do?"

Something like relief warmed Frigga's features. "Come to me," she said, "here, when you can find the courage to do so. I will do what I can to help you." She reached up, laid her hand tenderly against Loki's cheek, and this time he did not shy away from her touch but leaned into her palm with a soft sigh. "All I ask," she went on quietly, "is that when you become strong enough, you will show me what happened to you out there."

_Is that all_? he wanted to say, the thought laced with scorn—but he did not. He had expected this, that he would be forced to sacrifice his silence in the end. He would not do it for anyone but her.

"Alright," he whispered, and he found the tension in his chest easing slightly. "You… you have my word."

"Thank you."

"But on one other condition."

Frigga tilted her head enquiringly at him, and Loki's eyes hardened for a moment.

"You are not to speak of this to Thor."

He expected her to ask why, to make a gentle protest, at least, but perhaps the expression on his face was enough, for she watched him quietly and then inclined her head. He noticed, though, that it was with an air of soft regret.

"Very well," she said. Her thumb brushed his cheek in reassurance. "Will you stay?"

_No. Not tonight. _He was not yet ready; he was still afraid, afraid that she would see him at his worst, when he could not hide, could not control his cries and his fears—

He nodded.

And some time later, he was curled on the low couch, breathing in deeply and running his hand along the worn damask fabric beneath him, taking comfort in its familiarity. For the first time in an eternity, he felt almost safe; and when the fear came again that night, clawing at him until it forced the low cries again from his throat, this time it did not last; for he felt a hand touching his wrist and smoothing back his hair, a low, warm voice murmuring reassurances in his ear, and after a while he grew quiet again without ever truly waking.


	14. XIV A Breath of Pause

**Author's Note:** I'm afraid this may be the last regular update for a while. I've finally caught up with myself, chapter-wise, and life has dictated that I don't always have the motivation or time to actually sit down and write chapters every week. I will certainly do my best, and there is no _way_ I am abandoning the story; I just can't promise the regular updates at the moment. I do hope you guys will stick with me if you can - it's been fantastic so far. :) Thank you!

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_XIV. A Breath of Pause_

It was the air that woke him. The door to the balcony had been left open, and a sharp wind blew through the room, stirring his hair until it tickled gently over his nose and lips. He made a face, bringing up a hand to swipe at the offending strands, and then, coming to himself, he opened his eyes very suddenly, his breath cutting short in his throat.

The room was pale, flickering with the half-light of dawn as though the sunlight, too, were being pushed about by the breeze. It was very quiet, and Loki heard himself exhale slowly again as he remembered where he was. He relaxed, tilting his head back so that he could see around the arm of the couch to Frigga's bedchamber. The door was partially ajar.

He rose with care, pushing his hair back from his face and taking a moment to find his balance; the setting seemed to have thrown him off slightly. He traced his hand absently over the back of the couch as he circled it, then straightened, and he found his gaze drawn to the open balcony. For a moment, he hesitated. Then, slowly, he crossed the room, his bare feet soft and noiseless against the stone. He set one hand on the shivering door as he reached it, and he found himself beginning to wonder faintly at the unfamiliar calm that had settled within him. Was it simply being _here_?

When he stepped onto the balcony, he found his mother standing at its edge, her hands resting gently upon the rail. She had undone her hair from its braid, and it spilled down her back in a wave that made Loki want to bury his face in it, as he had done when he was small. If she heard him, she did not look around. Loki paused for a long moment before he came up softly beside her.

"You still rise early," he noted in a low voice, keeping his gaze fixed, not on her, but on the streaks of lilac above the horizon.

"As do you." She turned, giving him a smile that, when he looked, he thought still concealed a certain hesitancy.

Loki merely pressed his lips together and glanced away again. "I don't have such habits anymore," he said quietly. His eyes traced the spires nearest to them, following the lines until they met the warming sky over the city, and then he leaned forward and rested his arms on the balcony. "I rise when I am awake. There is little more to it than that."

He felt her watching him for a time, and then she turned abruptly. "I'm going to make some tea," she said. She touched his shoulder as she passed behind him, and though he tensed, he did not flinch. Surprise flickered through him.

Almost wary at his own calm, Loki did not follow, but remained on the balcony, folding one arm over the other and raising his face as another wind blew past him, sharp and sweet. He inhaled deeply of it, and he could not help but feel that he was tasting the air for the first time despite the weeks that had passed since his release. He felt almost whole here, freer, as he had not felt for longer than he could remember. It was only an absent glance down at himself that made him realise what one of the reasons for that might be.

The band was gone.

Loki stared, then slowly raised his hand, wrapping his fingers around his bare wrist and for a moment unable to believe that he had been released. He had expected at least a mark on his skin, some sign that he was somehow still bound—but there was nothing.

With an apprehension he could not quite explain, Loki let his hand drop again and stared unseeingly out across the city. His pulse was quickening. It would be so easy, now, so _simple_ to vanish from sight, to leave this cursed half-life behind him—

"Loki."

He spun around, tense with apprehension and a defence halfway to his lips, only to find Frigga standing in the balcony doorway with a steaming ceramic cup in her hand. "Do you want this?" she asked, arching her brows at him.

_So simple._

Loki's brief resolution faded again. _Oh, yes. _ So simple to destroy what little trust had been regained between them, to remain silent, to hurt her, to prove to her that he was the darkness they all feared he was. All he had to do was run. That was the easy way.

"Yes," he said. He crossed the balcony and made as if to take the cup from her, but it was very hot, too hot, and he drew his hand back with a hiss as the surface seared his fingertips. "Over—over there," he told her quickly, casting about for a way to mask the fleeting fear in his mind and pointing to the table by the couch. "I'll wait til it's cooler."

If his mother noticed anything, she pretended as though she hadn't; she turned and set the tea down on the table again, where her own cup already rested. Loki followed more slowly, still rubbing at his wrist.

"You removed it," he said quietly as he sat down and raised his eyes to look at her. "When?"

Frigga smiled slightly. "I thought you would have noticed sooner." She settled comfortably beside him, taking her tea in both hands and raising it to her lips. "Last night," she went on in a calm voice. "I did tell you that I would."

Loki's jaw tightened for a moment. "Where is it?"

She pointed, and Loki followed the line of her finger to another small table by the wall, where the bracelet lay, glinting faintly in the pale sunlight. Just the sight of it, so bright and unthreatening, made something within Loki twist painfully for a few seconds. He quickly turned his gaze away.

"And you really plan to place me under its control again the moment I care to set foot outside these rooms." Loki's voice was flat, though there was, too, a lingering question in his tone, a question he tried to tell himself was not an admission of fear.

"Yes." Frigga met his eyes unashamedly. "For now, that is how it must be."

"Why? Because you swore to Odin that you would keep me in _check_?"

She went very still, staring at him. "How do you know that?" she whispered. Her glance flickered down again, almost without reason, and Loki knew suddenly, immediately, that she had not mean to ask that. Somehow, she had slipped, or thought she had. Loki could recognise the signs, even if he didn't know why, and his narrowed his eyes as he watched her.

"What aren't you telling me?" he asked, very softly.

Frigga drew a long breath, and seemed to straighten slightly in her seat. "There is a great deal that I do not tell you, nor anyone. And that should not come as a surprise to you, Loki."

But Loki was not about to let her deflect him so easily. "No, it's more than that, isn't it?" He leaned forward, eyeing her closely. "There's something else, now _what is it_?_"_

For a moment, he heard something dangerous in his own voice, a tone he had not used with her since their first meeting upon his release—no, perhaps not even then. He had phrased a question, but he saw from the sudden, faint hardening of his mother's features that she, too, had heard the command contained therein. He pressed his lips together but did not look away.

A steely look had come into Frigga's eye, but she answered nonetheless. "Yes," she said calmly, "I did make a promise. I promised that all these Realms would be protected when he was gone." She exhaled softly. "Unfortunately, that meant taking you into account."

Loki felt his eyes widen for just a moment. "He _knew_," he breathed, staring at Frigga as uncomfortable realisation flooded him. "He _knew_ I was to be released. You _planned _this."

She nodded. "We did."

Feeling strangely betrayed, Loki tore his glance from his mother's and leaned back in his seat, still massaging at his unmarked wrist yet hardly realising it. So it hadn't been Thor, after all. It had been Odin. _Why_ did it have to be Odin? For so long he had been the enemy, the mighty All-Father and his Golden Son, opposing the darkness that Loki had become—and though this new revelation did not alter that perception completely, it at least cast a wavering doubt over Loki's wall of hatred.

He _really_ did not appreciate that.

Then again, perhaps it should not have been so surprising. Frigga _had_ stated to Thor that she had given Odin her word—and while Loki could not be absolutely certain, it had seemed like he himself had been the subject of that little conversation. He had thought, at the time, that the words had meant ensuring he would be held in check by whatever means necessary. He hadn't realised, however, that his release might have been a decision weeks, even months in the making.

"Why did he agree?" he asked softly, keeping his voice low and steady as he leaned forward to reach for his tea. It was a brew from Vanaheim, rich and dark. She knew he favoured it.

Frigga arched a calm brow. "Because I asked it of him. And because I believe, in his heart, he did not want to see your life ended, nor wasted away. I know you do not believe it," she went on quickly, as Loki's lips parted in a bitter protest, "but I do."

She raised her chin slightly, as if preparing herself for whatever scathing comeback Loki had in mind, but Loki looked at her and realised he was not in the mood for an argument. He looked away, feeling rather like a child who had been reprimanded, though he couldn't think why.

"Thor's not ready," he said suddenly.

The thought had come into his mind quite without warning, and the fact that he had voiced it surprised him, all more because there was less bitterness in it than he had come to expect from himself.

"To be King?" Frigga smiled gently. "No one ever is. Not even you, my son."

Loki stared determinedly at his tea. That wasn't at all where he had meant to take the conversation. "He's distracted," he went on shortly, pretending he hadn't heard. "Even I can see it, and I'm _avoiding_ him."

Frigga tilted her head. "Does it bother you?"

"Does it bother me that Asgard is in the hands of a man who acts first and thinks later? Of course it does." Loki let out an annoyed breath that stirred the surface of his tea. "Contrary to your expectations, Mother, he hasn't changed _that_ much."

Irritated, he leaned back in his seat and stared at the ceiling, where patches of sunlight were flickering gently, and it took him some time to realise that Frigga had made no response in defence of Thor. Frowning, Loki looked over at her again. The expression he was met with was one he could not define at first. There was warmth on his mother's face, and sadness, and an odd relief.

"Thank you," she said.

Loki stared at her, bewildered. "For w—"

_Oh._

But he hadn't meant it, not deliberately—surely she could see that? It wasn't as though he had _chosen_ to speak it. No, he told himself quickly, it had been nothing more than a slip of the tongue, merely an unguarded word, an instinct—

A truth.

_Mother._

Loki averted his gaze, uncertain if the sudden shame he felt was born from his inability to censor himself, or the very fact that he had been doing so up til this point. She made him feel like a young child, and it ached within him, when for so long now he had felt so, so old.

"I do hope you haven't changed your mind overnight," Frigga remarked after a moment, her tone offhand. Loki glanced at her again.

"About what?" he asked. He knew, but it was easier to continue the conversation this way.

"About letting me help you—_teach_ you." She hesitated, then smiled gently at him. "As I used to."

Loki's eyes narrowed over his cup. "Try not to lose yourself in sentiment," he told her flatly. "I'm not exactly looking forward to this, and neither should you. I expect you will find yourself wishing you had retracted the offer before we're done."

"Perhaps. Even if that proves true, it doesn't mean that I will."

"Are you reconsidering?"

"No."

Loki glanced at her sharply again, surprised at the firmness of her reply. "I don't understand you," he said softly.

"Is it me?" Frigga asked, setting her tea down again with that casual grace he had always admired. He didn't know why he was noticing it again now. "Or," she went on softly, "is it that you no longer understand yourself?"

It was fortunate that a knock came at the door just then, for to that, Loki had no reply—at least, not one that he was willing to give. He looked quickly around, and felt something rather like relief when Thor came into the room. The feeling gave way to irritation, of course, as soon as his senses returned to him. He stiffened.

"I…" Thor had obviously meant to say something more coherent than that, but he seemed to flounder when he saw Loki sitting on the couch, still clad in a robe over his soft shirt and pants and with the cup of tea halfway to his lips. "I…"

"You're free join us," Frigga told him, arching her brows. Her tone was mild, but Loki did not miss the look that passed from her to Thor. _Be careful_, it said, as though Loki were a thing that might break. _Be gentle. Don't antagonise him._

Thor hesitated. "I… came to ask if you would be attending the council meeting," he said, looking past Loki to Frigga. "It will be starting within the hour." His eyes flicked to Loki again.

"I don't know," Frigga answered slowly. "It is true I had meant to…"

And, looking at her, Loki knew the reason for her hesitation. Did she think he would run? He could not deny that the thought had been at the back of his mind ever since she had removed the band from his wrist. He knew he was capable of it. He knew that he _wanted_ to.

_Some do battle, others do only tricks._

"Go," he said shortly, looking only briefly at his mother, and when she tilted her head questioningly at him, he gave a thin smile. "Don't worry; I'll still be here when you return. After all—" and here he shot a contemptuous look over his shoulder at his brother "—Thor can use all the help he can get."

Thor stiffened, his brows lowering in a warning scowl, but Frigga held up her hand.

"If you are alright," she said softly to Loki, "I will go."

Loki gave a stiff nod. "I'm fine."

"Then I will see you shortly." These final words were directed at Thor as she rose, drawing her skirts easily away from her feet and slipping through the half-open door to her bedchamber, which she closed again behind her. An uncomfortable silence was left in her wake. Loki prayed inwardly that his brother, too, would take his leave, though he wasn't really expecting it.

Thor shifted his weight. "How are you?" he began awkwardly.

Loki rolled his eyes and twisted around to give his brother a flat, level stare. Thor's scowl returned.

"Fine," he said irritably, turning away, "you want to be that way, Loki, _fine_." He was almost to the door before Loki stopped him with a few dark, well-chosen words.

"You _told_ her."

Thor stiffened, then slowly turned around again. "Of course I did."

"I thought I made it quite clear—"

"You made it clear to me that you will not let me help you. I told the one person who might still have a chance—_our mother_." An odd and quite unexpected spasm of emotion flitted over Thor's face, and his voice quieted. "Brother, for your sake, please don't prove me wrong."

And before Loki could do more than straighten in protest, Thor had gone.


End file.
